Bon-Accord Sangster/The Pipe and Bowl

THE PIPE AND BOWL.

Tune—“Wha wadna fecht for Charlie!”

Fill the Bowl and foam the Bicker,
While Mackenzie's eyelids wink;
Drink makes languid hearts beat quicker,
Empty heads sublimely think.
Drink, all slavish toil forgetting,
Drink can make clown a king;
Drink till eyes in joy are setting,
Drink makes sorrow take the wing!

Parsons preach that drink's demerits
Bring us all to Tophet's brink;
While their Elders deal in spirits,
And their Deacons draw our clink.
Templars, decked in Popish tucker,
Spread their chaff to gull our class;
Templars, leagued the weak to succour,
Give the sign but grip the glass!

Bring the pipe with lengthy stalk in,
Well Tobacco Bacchus serves;
Smoke promotes enligtened talkin',
Wings the fancy—soothes the nerves.
Smoke, nor name our lair for sleeping,
Fireless hearth and sloppy floor;
Smoke till vapours round us creeping
Screen from peepers at the door.

Statesmen, like the press of Bramah,
Tax from Pipe and Bicker squeeze;
Drinking paid the Alabama,
Smoking smored the Ashantecs;
Near Balmoral's banner'd turrets,
Lochnagar* recruits the cag;
And the smoke of "royal” spirits
Stains the folds of Britain's flag.

While the Pipe and Bicker cheer us
Wondrous scenes enchant our view;
Robed in clouds, like Fingal's heroes,
Swift we mount—Police, adieu!"—
Drinking, smoking, grandly soaring,
Till the floor arrests their head,
Leave we safe our heroes snoring
Where Incapables are spread.

❋ A Distillery so called.

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