let the healths, let the house, and the glasses turn round,
But no tears, except those of the tankard, abound.
Come! here's a good health to the Muses,
Three brimmers to the three times three,
And one to each grace let there be;
The triple-skull'd dog bite him that refuses.
III.
Let's be mad as March-hares, call the minstrels and singers,
Strike up there!—kick that rogue—he has chilblains on's fingers,
20Let that whoreson our neighbour, on his bags that lies thinking,