Classic Poem

I.

Death , death to the bald-heads — no quarter!
The rogues they shall taste of our steel;
We'll give each a turn of the torture,
And lay him agape in the creel.

II.

Drink death to the bald-heads! why spare them?
What matters it when they expire?
To say nay to our wishes we dare them,
So re-strengthen the goblet still higher!

III.

Our wands to good fortune they guide us,
Meanwhile, bear the cup to the mouth;
Let the break of grey twilight decide us
And winds wand'ring soft from the south.

IV.

We anglers should quaff and be jolly,
Ere the time to be doing draws nigh;
Short season will sleep away folly,
And we'll up with the sun, by and by.

V.

Drink death to the bald-heads — no quarter!
Why spare the sly rogues of the brook?
We'll give each a turn of the torture,
Drink success to the wand and the hook!