The Cure For All Care.

Tune - "Prepare, my dear brethren, to the tavern let's fly."


I.

    No churchman am I for to rail and to write,
    No statesman nor soldier to plot or to fight,
    No sly man of business, contriving to snare,
    For a big-bellied bottle's the whole of my care.

II.

    The peer I don't envy, I give him his bow;
    I scorn not the peasant, tho' ever so low;
    But a club of good fellows, like those that are here,
    And a bottle like this, are my glory and care.

III.

    Here passes the squire on his brother, his horse;
    There centum per centum, the cit with his purse;
    But see you The Crown, how it waves in the air!
    There a big-bellied bottle still eases my care.

IV.

    The wife of my bosom, alas! she did die;
    For sweet consolation to church I did fly;
    I found that old Solomon proved it fair,
    That a big-bellied bottle's a cure for all care.

V.

    I once was persuaded a venture to make;
    A letter inform'd me that all was to wreck;
    But the pursy old landlord just waddled up stairs,
    With a glorious bottle that ended my cares.

VI.

    "Life's cares they are comforts,"[1] a maxim laid down
    By the bard, what d'ye call him, that wore the black gown;
    And faith I agree with th' old prig to a hair;
    For a big-bellied bottle's a heav'n of care.

VII.

Added In A Mason Lodge.

    Then fill up a bumper and make it o'erflow.
    The honours masonic prepare for to throw;
    May every true brother of the compass and square
    Have a big-bellied bottle when harass'd with care!