C. Mackay.
* * * * *
Beer! Boys, Beer!
Beer! Boys, Beer! for that’s the stuff for sorrow,
Forage out more, we will, upon our way;
The score behind the door, we’ll make right to-morrow,
When we get over the drinking of to-day.
So, farewell, Landlord, much as we may owe thee,
We’ll dry the pots up, if you’ll only draw;