7.—TO THE FINISH I WENT.
1
To the Finish I went, when the moon it was shining,
The jug round the table moved jovially on;
I staid 'till the moon the next morn was declining—
The jug still was there, but the punch was all gone!
And such are the joys that your brandy will promise,
(And often these joys at the finish I've known)
Every copper it makes in the evening ebb from us,
And leaves us next day with a headache alone!
2
Ne'er tell me of puns or of laughter adorning
Our revels, that last till the close of the night,
Give me back the hard cash that I left in the morning,
For clouds dim my eye, and my pocket is light.
O! who's there who welcomes that moment's returning,
When daylight must throw a new light on his frame—
When his stomach is sick, and his liver is burning,
His eyes, shot with blood, and his brow in a flame!
