'Till wasted frame and fever come,
And the sorrows of Hell begin.
Drink, drink, drink,
'Till staggering home we go,
Drink, drink, drink,
'Till we blast that home with woe.
Drink, curses, murder, and shame,
Make up the drunkard's life,
With the rags and vice of a starving child,
And the groans of a sickly wife.