 | Songs and ballads by Samuel Lover |  |
TEA TABLE TACTICS.
They may talk of the ruin
That Bacchus is brewing,
But if my advice a young soldier would ask, sir,
I would say that the hiccups
Are safer than tea-cups,
So beware of the chaynee and stick to your flask, sir.
Had I stood to my bowl,
Like a gay jovial soul,
By this time I might be a general officer;
But I dallied with Sally,
And Betty, and Ally,
And lost all my time with their tay and their coffee, sir—
Oh! tay is a dangerous drink,
When the lady that makes it's a beauty;
With her fingers so nate,
She presents you a plate,
And to cut bread and butter she puts you on duty;
Then she pouts her bright lips,
While the Congou she sips,
And her sweet mouth some question demanding,
Puts your heart beyond all self-commanding,
Through the steam of the teapot her eyes shine like stars,
And Venus again makes a conquest of Mars.
That Bacchus is brewing,
But if my advice a young soldier would ask, sir,
I would say that the hiccups
Are safer than tea-cups,
So beware of the chaynee and stick to your flask, sir.
Had I stood to my bowl,
Like a gay jovial soul,
By this time I might be a general officer;
But I dallied with Sally,
And Betty, and Ally,
And lost all my time with their tay and their coffee, sir—
Oh! tay is a dangerous drink,
When the lady that makes it's a beauty;
With her fingers so nate,
She presents you a plate,
And to cut bread and butter she puts you on duty;
73
While the Congou she sips,
And her sweet mouth some question demanding,
Puts your heart beyond all self-commanding,
Through the steam of the teapot her eyes shine like stars,
And Venus again makes a conquest of Mars.
When I entered the army,
At first it did charm me;
Says I, “by St. Patrick, I'll yet live in story,
When war is announced—”
But a petticoat flounced
With a nate bit of lace, it ensnar'd me from glory.
Had I mounted the breach,
Glory's lesson to teach,
I might have escaped, and a pension be paying me;
Instead of soft folly,
With Nancy or Molly,
Which bound me, like Sampson, while Cupid was slaying me.
Oh! tay is a dangerous drink, &c., &c.
At first it did charm me;
Says I, “by St. Patrick, I'll yet live in story,
When war is announced—”
But a petticoat flounced
With a nate bit of lace, it ensnar'd me from glory.
Had I mounted the breach,
Glory's lesson to teach,
I might have escaped, and a pension be paying me;
Instead of soft folly,
With Nancy or Molly,
Which bound me, like Sampson, while Cupid was slaying me.
Oh! tay is a dangerous drink, &c., &c.
| Songs and ballads by Samuel Lover | |