And lead them to a Democratic goal.
Now I am "going for" the flowing bowl.
E'en W-lfr-d owns I am "upon the job."
I mean to save the workman many a "bob."
But, lessening his chance of toping ale,
The Witler tells his pals the saddest tale.
Bacchus for his true friend mistaketh me,
Then step I from his side, down topples he,
And "Traitor!" cries, and swears I did but chaff,
And the Teetotallers hold their sides and laugh,