 | BANK MELODY—No. I. Sporting scenes and sundry sketches |  |
2. BANK MELODY—No. I.
A lament of a wig temperance man on being invited to the corporation
dinner on the 4th of July.
The gushing wine is calling me,
With its merry, gleesome flow;
And our party all are hauling me,
Where bright their glasses glow;
I may not go, I must not go,
Where punch, pale ale, and sherry flow;
Where flutenists and flowers blow;—
I must stay here with my wife and daughter,
And sip the insipid Knapp's spring water;—
Oh! heavy life, wear on, wear on;
That vow for me has the business done!
The sharp-set carver, through the round
Goes cutting, with its hungry sound;
And over the blade spiced gravies flow
Into the steamy dish below;
And fast and full the soup plates go
To Bull, Fred. Talmadge, and Munro;
With its merry, gleesome flow;
And our party all are hauling me,
Where bright their glasses glow;
I may not go, I must not go,
Where punch, pale ale, and sherry flow;
Where flutenists and flowers blow;—
I must stay here with my wife and daughter,
And sip the insipid Knapp's spring water;—
Oh! heavy life, wear on, wear on;
That vow for me has the business done!
The sharp-set carver, through the round
Goes cutting, with its hungry sound;
And over the blade spiced gravies flow
Into the steamy dish below;
And fast and full the soup plates go
To Bull, Fred. Talmadge, and Munro;
216
And all the way
They murmuring say
“Oh, fool! why thou art far away?
Come up to the City Hall to-day,
And with us the figure go.”
I may not go, I may not go,
Where brilliant Hock's green waters run
All glided with reflected fun;
Where leaps Champagne, from the bottle, below,
Into a whirl of boiling snow,
And the rabble gape as they see it go;
I must stay here
In prison drear;
Oh! heavy life, wear on, wear on;
Would God that thou wert done!—
The fat head cook, good wig, goes by,
Arranging syllabub and viand,
And Sambo Ganymedes swift fly,
To help good fellows as get dry, and
Madeira makes them all rejoice,
And even old Hays with gentle voice,
Calls me away,
With the wigs to stay,
To keep the day
Which the Democrats say
Is their own blessed anniversary.
I may not go—I may not go,
Where the sweet winds over fresh salmon blow;
They murmuring say
“Oh, fool! why thou art far away?
Come up to the City Hall to-day,
And with us the figure go.”
I may not go, I may not go,
Where brilliant Hock's green waters run
All glided with reflected fun;
Where leaps Champagne, from the bottle, below,
Into a whirl of boiling snow,
And the rabble gape as they see it go;
I must stay here
In prison drear;
Oh! heavy life, wear on, wear on;
Would God that thou wert done!—
The fat head cook, good wig, goes by,
Arranging syllabub and viand,
And Sambo Ganymedes swift fly,
To help good fellows as get dry, and
Madeira makes them all rejoice,
And even old Hays with gentle voice,
Calls me away,
With the wigs to stay,
To keep the day
Which the Democrats say
Is their own blessed anniversary.
I may not go—I may not go,
Where the sweet winds over fresh salmon blow;
217
Where the spicy pregnant clouds float by
The original Stillwell's dreamy eye;
Nor where the soup, warm, rich, and black,
Runs gurgling 'mid the busy clack,
Like a sweet bird singing upon a hill,
To the splashing wheel of the village mill—
I must stay here,
With my wedded dear,
And munch roast clams like Cotton Mather,
And keep my vow to our good King Arthur.
O could I go, unknown, unseen,
And rapturous dip in the deep tureen,
And be the boy I would have been,
But for that cursed vow!
Charles King and Root, and I and Noah,
Would make the old[1] Sessions ceiling roar,
And K—g get R—t upon the floor,
“As drunk as David's sow.”
The original Stillwell's dreamy eye;
Nor where the soup, warm, rich, and black,
Runs gurgling 'mid the busy clack,
Like a sweet bird singing upon a hill,
To the splashing wheel of the village mill—
I must stay here,
With my wedded dear,
And munch roast clams like Cotton Mather,
And keep my vow to our good King Arthur.
O could I go, unknown, unseen,
And rapturous dip in the deep tureen,
And be the boy I would have been,
But for that cursed vow!
Charles King and Root, and I and Noah,
Would make the old[1] Sessions ceiling roar,
And K—g get R—t upon the floor,
“As drunk as David's sow.”
| BANK MELODY—No. I. Sporting scenes and sundry sketches | |