If misfortune's arrows wound us,
Still a balm we may discover
In the bumper running over,
When we mingle heart and soul
O'er the flowing, foaming bowl.
"By heavens, you ought to have a strait-jacket!" said Toney. "Ain't you a pretty picture?—standing there with your coat off and your breeches rent in the rear! I wish some of the ladies whom you used to be making love to could now see——"
Cupid is a treacherous urchin,
With his darts each bosom searching;
If we've false and cruel found him,
On the bumper's brim we'll drown him,