Was it for this fair blooming Maid,
This scene of sad, domestic jar,
That, by the wiles of man betray'd,
You left the tap room and the bar?
Why, thou unworthy slave of drink!
Thy partner's peace thus plant a dagger in,
And hastening to destruction's brink,
Steer homeward's nightly drunk and staggering?
"You filthy wretch, what! drunk again—
Too soon will poverty assail us;