Why the drunken waterman had turn'd—(some horrid death he merits),
As temperance had made water scarce—her cistern on with spirits!
It's odd what things befal men of a temperance way of thinking,
Most strange the best tea-totallers should always die of drinking
Soaking the stomach so with tea, as if its coats were fustian,
Yet, somehow, bursting with, at last, spontaneous combustion;
The teapot is the sign from which, most vigorous, too, their sups they are,
Yet when they meet they're sure to be discover'd in their cups, they are;
And when their next procession comes, just take a notice cursory,
How many totallers will die of their sober anniversary.