To a roquelaire wrapp'd round the body
Add a lining of lamb's-wool within!
This liquor was brew'd by my grandam,
In a snug quiet still of her own;
'Tis fit for my Lord in his tandem,
And royal King Will on his throne.
In the glass, see it sparkles and ripples,
And how it runs merrily down!
The absolute monarch of tipples,
And richly deserving a crown!