Now and then upon a Sunday
He invited me to dine,
On a herring and a mutton-chop
Which his maid dressed very fine;
There was also a little Malmsey,
And a bottle of Bordeaux,
Which between me and the Captain
Passed nimbly to and fro.
Oh! I ne’er shall take pot-luck with Captain Paton no mo!
7.
Or if a bowl was mentioned,
The Captain he would ring,
And bid Nelly run to the West-port.
And a stoup of water bring;
Then would he mix the genuine stuff,
As they made it long ago,
With limes that on his property
In Trinidad did grow.
Oh! we ne’er shall taste the like of Captain Paton’s punch no mo!
8.
And then all the time he would discourse
So sensible and courteous,
Perhaps talking of last sermon
He had heard from Dr Porteous,
Or some little bit of scandal
About Mrs so and so,
Which he scarce could credit, having heard
The con but not the pro.
Oh! we ne’er shall hear the like of Captain Paton no mo!
9.
Or when the candles were brought forth,
And the night was fairly setting in,
He would tell some fine old stories
About Minden-field or Dettingen—
How he fought with a French major,
And despatched him at a blow,
While his blood ran out like water
On the soft grass below.
Oh! we ne’er shall hear the like of Captain Paton no mo!
10.
But at last the Captain sickened
And grew worse from day to day.
And all missed him in the Coffee-room
From which now he stayed away;
On Sabbaths, too, the Wee Kirk
Made a melancholy show,
All for wanting of the presence
Of our venerable beau.
Oh! we ne’er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo!