And bother each man in his mess;
Says Ned, ‘My brave boys, if your duty you’d larn,
’Tis—succour a friend in distress.’
“‘Ne’er get drunk!’ says the priest, with a wave of his fist,
‘Never swear;—never covet another man’s prog;’
But see him next day, when he’s cheating at whist—
My eyes! ’tis a storm in an ocean of grog.
Says Ned, ‘them ’ere maxims I don’t understand,
We should practice the thing we profess;’
While the pray’r from his heart, and the gold from his hand,