The jug still was there, but the punch was all gone
And such are the joys that your brandy will promise,
(And often these joys at the finish I’ve known)
Every copper it makes in the evening ebb from us,
And leaves us next day with a head ache alone!
Ne’er tell me of puns, or of laughter adorning,
Our revels, that last till the close of the night;
Give me back the hard cash that I left in the morning,
For clouds dim my eye, and my pocket is light.
Oh, who’s there who welcomes that moment’s returning,