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.


My Girl She’s Airy

My girl she's airy, she's buxom and gay;
Her breath is as sweet as the blossoms in May;
A touch of her lips it ravishes quite.
She's always good natur'd, good humor'd and free;
She dances, she glances, she smiles upon me;
I never am happy when out of her sight.
Her slender neck her handsome waist
Her hair well curl'd her stays well lac'd
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
And O for the joys of a long winter night.


On Marriage

That hackney'd judge of human life,
The Preacher and the King,
Observes: 'The man that gets a wife
He gets a noble thing.'

But how capricious are mankind,
Now loathing, now desirous!
We married men, how oft we find
The best of things will tire us!