As flurried and hot I up Summer Hill pressed;
The knowing one smiled as he stayed to accost me,
And proffered his crib for a glass and a rest.
Oh! no, jolly father, I will not, I vows,—
No rest but the grave from the tongue of my spouse.
Yet, tarry, my son, till your wife’s fury passes,
The “George and the Dragon” shall shelter thy head;
My whiskey is good, and full measure my glasses,
If fuddled too soon you shall share half my bed;
No, no, jolly father, I will not, I vows,—