So, when the nectar hath brightened the heart,
The shadows of pain and sorrow depart,
And all the Blue Devils must wing their flight,
When a cork is drawn by the Bottle Sprite.
Imp of the Bottle! still gild our hours—
So shall our pathway be strew'd with flowers;
Harmony uninterrupted shall reign,
And the watchword for pleasure be "Wright's Champagne."
And be it our duty as well as delight,
To honour the draughts of the Bottle Sprite.