No, thank ye, Sir,—­I never drink;
    Roger and I are exceedingly moral,—­
  Aren’t we, Roger?—­See him wink!—­
    Well, something hot, then,—­we won’t quarrel. 
  He’s thirsty, too,—­see him nod his head? 
     What a pity, Sir, that dogs can’t talk! 
  He understands every word that’s said,—­
     And he knows good milk from water-and-chalk.

  The truth is, Sir, now I reflect,
     I’ve been so sadly given to grog,
  I wonder I’ve not lost the respect
     (Here’s to you, Sir!) even of my dog. 
  But he sticks by, through thick and thin;
     And this old coat, with its empty pockets,
  And rags that smell of tobacco and gin,
     He’ll follow while he has eyes in his sockets.

  There isn’t another creature living
     Would do it, and prove, through every disaster,
  So fond, so faithful, and so forgiving,
     To such a miserable thankless master! 
  No, Sir!—­see him wag his tail and grin I
     By George! it makes my old eyes water! 
  That is, there’s something in this gin
     That chokes a fellow.  But no matter!

  We’ll have some music, if you ’re willing,
     And Roger (hem! what a plague a cough is, Sir!)
  Shall march a little.—­Start, you villain! 
     Stand straight!  ’Bout face!  Salute your officer! 
  Put up that paw!  Dress!  Take your rifle! 
     (Some dogs have arms, you see!) Now hold your
  Cap while the gentlemen give a trifle,
     To aid a poor old patriot soldier!

  March!  Halt!  Now show how the rebel shakes,
     When he stands up to hear his sentence. 
  Now tell us how many drams it takes
     To honor a jolly new acquaintance. 
  Five yelps,—­that’s five; he’s mighty knowing! 
     The night’s before us, fill the glasses!—­
  Quick, Sir!  I’m ill,—­my brain is going!—­
     Some brandy,—­thank you,—­there!—­it passes!

  Why not reform?  That’s easily said;
     But I’ve gone through such wretched treatment,
  Sometimes forgetting the taste of bread,
     And scarce remembering what meat meant,
  That my poor stomach’s past reform;
     And there are times when, mad with thinking,
  I’d sell out heaven for something warm
     To prop a horrible inward sinking.

  Is there a way to forget to think? 
     At your age, Sir, home, fortune, friends,
  A dear girl’s love,—­but I took to drink;—­
     The same old story; you know how it ends. 
  If you could have seen these classic features,——­
     You needn’t laugh, Sir; they were not then
  Such a burning libel on God’s creatures: 
     I was one of your handsome men!

  If you had seen HER, so fair and young,
     Whose head was happy on this breast! 
  If you could have heard the songs I sung
     When the wine went round, you wouldn’t have guessed
  That ever I, Sir, should be straying
     From door to door, with fiddle and dog,
  Ragged and penniless, and playing
     To you to-night for a glass of grog!