London barber's wedding/The progress of drinking

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THE
PROGRESS OF DRINKING:

A NEW SONG.

I.

Before I came to London,
I us’d to ſip tea with my mother;
⁠And I thought it a treat
⁠If ſmall beer I could get
To drink with my elder brother.
⁠Tol de rol, &c.

II.

But my father condemn’d this practice,
He hector’d and ſwore like mad—Sir:
⁠Says he, “Give him ale,
⁠“For that will never fail
“To make him as ſtout as his dad—Sir.”

III.

Soon after, our Ned the butler
Took me down to taſte ſome October;—
Cried he “Never fear
“To drink ſtrong beer
“But ſwallow it, drunk or ſober.”

IV.

But when I arrived in London,
Of porter I drank my pot—Sir:
⁠A pipe did I funk,
⁠And ſo oft got drunk,
That my ſiſter called me a ſot—Sir.

V.

From beer to wine I aſcended.
By a ſeries of juſt gradation;
⁠Till my friends would me jog
⁠With—“There’s a jolly dog
"Soon ſhall top with the beſt of the nation.”

VI.

With a blood then I got acquainted.
Who ſtraight prov’d wondrous handy:
⁠For he taught me to ſwear
⁠Like a grenadier,
And always drink rum or brandy.

VII.

Thus I to drams-betook me,
And wine I drank no longer:
⁠Sometimes I threw in
⁠Gunpowder to my gin,
To nuke the portion ſtronger.

VIII.

But conſidering all things earthly,
That the ſpan of life ſo ſhort is:—
⁠Whate’er you may think
⁠I ſtill ſhall drink
Till I come to aqua-fortis.
⁠Tol de rol, &c.

FINIS