No Churchman Am I

No Churchman am I for to rail and to write,

No Statesman nor Soldier to plot or to fight,

No sly Man of business contriving a snare,

For a big-belly'd bottle's the whole of my care.

II

The Peer I don't envy, I give him his bow;

I scorn not the Peasant, tho' ever so low;

But a club of good fellows, like those that are here,

And a bottle like this, are my glory and care.

III

Here passes the Squire on his brother-his horse;

There Centum per Centum, the Cit with his purse;

But see you the Crown how it waves in the air,

There a big-belly'd bottle still eases my care.

IV

The wife of my bosom, alas! she did die;

For sweet consolation to church I did fly;

I found that old Solomon proved it fair,

That a big-belly'd bottle's a cure for all care.

V

I once was persuaded a venture to make;

A letter inform'd me that all was to wreck;

But the pursy old landlord just waddl'd up stairs

With a glorious bottle that ended my cares.

VI

Life's cares they are comforts, a maxim laid down

By the Bard, what d'ye call him, that wore the black gown;

And faith I agree with the old prig to a hair;

For a big-belly'd bottle's a heaven o care.

A Stanza added in a Masonic Lodge:

Then fill up a bumper and make it o'erflow,

And honours masonic prepare for to throw;

May every true brother of th' compass and square

Have a big belly'd bottle when harassd with care.