Make from the cask your brethren cosey,
Of course not drunk, yet vastly dozy:
If fault be found you drain his wealth,
'Twas all with 'drinking Master's health.'
Put 'em to bed to sleep it off,
Say they've a cold—a shocking cough;
'Tis ten to one your Mistress orders
What you think good for all disorders,
At which, before, you've often laugh'd,—
A more and more composing draught!