Poetry on an Improved Principle. A Renconter With a Tea-Totaller. Punch
On going forth last night, a friend to see,
I met a man by trade a s-n-o-B;
Reeling along the path he held his way.
“Ho! ho!” quoth I, “he’s d-r-u-n-K”
Then thus to him—“Were it not better, far,
You were a little s-o-b-e-R?
’T were happier for your family, I guess,
Than playing of such rum r-i-g-S.
Besides, all drunkards, when policemen see ’em,
Are taken up at once by t-h-e-M.”
‘Me drunk!” the cobbler cried, “the devil trouble you
You want to kick up a blest r-o-W.
Now, may I never wish to work for Hoby,
If drain I’ve had!” (the lying s-n-O-B!)
I’ve just return’d from a tee-total party,
Twelve on us jamm’d in a spring c-a-R-P.
The man as lectured, now, WAS drunk; why, bless ye,
He’s sent home in a c-h-a-i-S-E.
He’d taken so much lush into his belly,
I’m blest if he could t-o-dd-L-E.
A pair on ’em—hisself and his good lady;—
The gin had got into her h-e-A-D.
(My eye and Betty! what weak mortals WE are;
They said they took but ginger b-e-E-R!)
But as for me, I’ve stuck (’t was rather ropy)
All day to weak imperial p-O-P.
And now we’ve had this little bit o’ sparrin’,
Just stand a q-u-a-r-t-e-R-N!”