 | Miscellaneous writings of the late Dr. Maginn |  |
245
Song of a Fallen Angel over a Bowl of Rum-Punch.
By T. M., Esq.
Heap on more coal there,
And keep the glass moving,
The frost nips my nose,
Though my heart glows with loving.
Here's the dear creature,
No skylights—a bumper;
He who leaves heeltaps
I vote him a mumper.
With hey cow rumble O
Whack! populorum,
Merrily, merry men,
Push round the jorum.
And keep the glass moving,
The frost nips my nose,
Though my heart glows with loving.
Here's the dear creature,
No skylights—a bumper;
He who leaves heeltaps
I vote him a mumper.
With hey cow rumble O
Whack! populorum,
Merrily, merry men,
Push round the jorum.
What are Heaven's pleasures
That so very sweet are?
Singing from psalters,
In long or short metre.
Planked on a wet cloud
Without any breeches,
Just like the Celtic,
Met to make speeches.
With hey cow rumble, &c.
That so very sweet are?
Singing from psalters,
In long or short metre.
Planked on a wet cloud
Without any breeches,
Just like the Celtic,
Met to make speeches.
With hey cow rumble, &c.
Wide is the difference,
My own boozing bullies,
Here the round punch-bowl
Heap'd to the full is.
Then if some wise one
Thinks that up “yonder”
Is pleasant as we are,
Why—he's in a blunder.
With hey cow rumble, &c.
My own boozing bullies,
Here the round punch-bowl
Heap'd to the full is.
Then if some wise one
Thinks that up “yonder”
Is pleasant as we are,
Why—he's in a blunder.
With hey cow rumble, &c.
| Miscellaneous writings of the late Dr. Maginn | |