Behold yon wretch at the tavern-bar:
His matted hair hangs over his brow;
The manly form and the noble soul
Are wrecked and lost in the drunkard now.
He shivering stands in his dirty rags,
With bloated face and his blood-shot eyes;
With quivering lips and a fever'd breath
For one glass more how he pleading cries.
Chorus.—O give me, sir, but a single glass;
O pity me now when my cash is done;
The night is cold and my blood runs chill,
And all I ask is a single one.
Away from here, you miserable wretch;
I want no more of your blubbering gas,
Be off at once! or I'll kick you out;
You'll get none here—not a single glass,
What brought you here in your filthy rags,
To disgrace my house in this drunken way.
At once, begone! for you'll get no drink,
No, not a glass, when you've nothing to pay.
Chorus.—O give me, sir, &c.
O, wherefore, sir, would you kick me out!
Why so unjust to thy friend art thou;
You gave me drink and you took my cash,
You made me, sir, as you see me now.
You scorn me too, as a drunken wretch,
Debased and steep't in the dregs of sin;
And when I ask but a single glass,
You'll kick me out tho' you took me in.
Chorus.—O give me, sir, &c.
Thro' ten long years while I labored hard,
You gave me drink, and you drain'd my purse,
I was your friend, and your blessings then,
Have proved at length but a demon's curse.
My loving wife and my children dear,
Have often sigh'd with a hungry soul,
While I was here with my social friends
And drinking deep from your mad'ning bowl.
Chorus.—O give me, sir, &c.
My health and youth I have wasted here;
To thee, for drink, my money I gave;
I'm now a wreck of what I was once,
And sinking fast to a drunkard's grave;
All wasted here in my reckless course,
Which neither thou nor time can restore;
Then pity me now for old friendship's sake,
And give one glass and I'll ask no more.
Chorus.—"Begone from here, you miserable wretch!"
The landlord cried, and he stamp't and swore,
Then kick't him out to the cold night storm,
And curs'd the wretch as he closed his door.