Classic Poem

A wretched end to life is sorrow,
a sorry end to drinking, thirst;
'tis dismal to sit round the table
and not to fill the stoup again;
those honest gentlemen are happy
who have cash reserves in hand,
who drink whenever they are thirsty,
and make payment to the women.

'Tis joy of a morn that company
should meet us at the start of day —
a lady coming to her parlour
to spread cheer throughout the house,
having in her hand a large bottle,
absolutely full of whisky;
then heartily we toast each other,
while she declares that we are welcome.

High mettle at such time for spending
is the proper style in the tavern;
a man that does not like the brandy
backbites us for indulging in it;
what the pot-companion says is,
" Fill up the cup once again;
there are many who reproach me for drink,
but few who appreciate my thirst. "