He shivering ran with might and main,
To where the fire shines on yon ale-house wall;
But the door was locked he bawled in vain,
For strong liquor was there the lord of all.
When morning came, quite dead he lay,
Close by the door in yon ale-house wall;
The frost his blood had chilled they say,
And strong liquor is still the lord of all.
Now all ye topers when ye view
The fire shining bright on an ale-house wall;