That I sing in this song from a motive unkind;
My theme is the drink-plague—that ill-unconfined,
That feeds on our ravage and ruin.
Ye cannot dislike though the satire be keen;
For disgrace, woe, and want are where’er it has been;
And spirits immortal enslaved may be seen
Its road to the devil pursuing.
Degraded is he who delights in its breath,
For its trade has been plann’d in the regions beneath;
Its curse has been wed to consumption and death