The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves ... Second Edition |
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THE DISCOVERY OF WHISKEY |
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 | The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves |  |
THE DISCOVERY OF WHISKEY
Beimeedh a gole!
Fill up the bowl,
Let us console
Dull care wid a glass, boys!
Shall it be wine,
Fragrant and fine
Fresh smuggled from Spain underneath a mattrass, boys!
No! all of those pleasant
Casks out of Cadiz,
Leave as a present,
Lads, for the ladies!
But for ourselves, sure, what should we say
But whiskey for ever till dawnin' of day!
Beimeedh a gole!
Fill up the bowl,
Let us console
Dull care wid a glass, boys!
Shall it be wine,
Fragrant and fine
Fresh smuggled from Spain underneath a mattrass, boys!
55
Casks out of Cadiz,
Leave as a present,
Lads, for the ladies!
But for ourselves, sure, what should we say
But whiskey for ever till dawnin' of day!
Beimeedh a gole!
Beimeedh a gole!
Wasn't it droll,
He that first stole
Fire from Heav'n's grate, boys!
Look now, was left
Chained to a cleft,
A century through, for an aigle to ate, boys!
St. Pat tho', when stealin'
Fire from that quarter,
Kept it concealin'
Snug under water,
Till he'd conveyed it safe to the ground,
Then look'd, and, begorra, 'twas whiskey he found!
Beimeedh a gole!
Wasn't it droll,
He that first stole
Fire from Heav'n's grate, boys!
Look now, was left
Chained to a cleft,
A century through, for an aigle to ate, boys!
St. Pat tho', when stealin'
Fire from that quarter,
Kept it concealin'
Snug under water,
Till he'd conveyed it safe to the ground,
Then look'd, and, begorra, 'twas whiskey he found!
Beimeedh a gole!
Beimeedh a gole!
Each wid his poll
Quite in control,
For all it's containin';
Smilin' we sit,
Warmin' our wit
Wid nectar the Gods might begrudge us the drainin'.
Now ere we go snoozin'
Under the clothes,
Don't be refusin'
One health I propose;
Here's to the darlin', pale as the dew,
That pounds purple Bacchus and all of his crew!
Beimeedh a gole!
Each wid his poll
Quite in control,
For all it's containin';
Smilin' we sit,
Warmin' our wit
Wid nectar the Gods might begrudge us the drainin'.
56
Under the clothes,
Don't be refusin'
One health I propose;
Here's to the darlin', pale as the dew,
That pounds purple Bacchus and all of his crew!
Beimeedh a gole!
| The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves | |