But they caper'd away
Like the sweeps on May-day,
And shouted and tippled the tumblers galore.
A print of their masther
Is often in plasther
O' Paris, put over the door of a tap;
A fine chubby fellow,
Ripe, rosy, and mellow,
Like a peach that is ready to drop in your lap.
Hurrah! for brave Bacchus,