Bobbie Burns and Bobbie Browning,
What’s the difference, you see? 
Bob the lover, Bob the lawyer;
Bobbie is the boy for me!

A TOAST.

Here’s a health to thee, Roberts,
And here’s a health to me;
And here’s to all the pretty girls
From Denver to the sea!

Here’s to mine and here’s to thine! 
Now’s the time to clink it! 
Here’s a flagon of old wine,
And here are we to drink it.

Wine that maketh glad the heart
Of the bully boy! 
Here’s the toast that we love most,
“Love and song and joy!”

Song that is the flower of love,
And joy that is the fruit! 
Here’s the love of woman, lad,
And here’s our love to boot!

You and I are far too wise
Not to fill our glasses. 
Here’s to me and here’s to thee,
And here’s to all the lasses!

THE KAVANAGH.

A stone jug and a pewter mug,
And a table set for three! 
A jug and a mug at every place,
And a biscuit or two with Brie! 
Three stone jugs of Cruiskeen Lawn,
And a cheese like crusted foam! 
The Kavanagh receives to-night! 
McMurrough is at home!

We three and the barley-bree! 
And a health to the one away,
Who drifts down careless Italy,
God’s wanderer and estray! 
For friends are more than Arno’s store
Of garnered charm, and he
Were blither with us here the night
Than Titian bids him be.

Throw ope the window to the stars,
And let the warm night in! 
Who knows what revelry in Mars
May rhyme with rouse akin? 
Fill up and drain the loving cup
And leave no drop to waste! 
The moon looks in to see what’s up—­
Begad, she’d like a taste!

What odds if Leinster’s kingly roll
Be now an idle thing? 
The world is his who takes his toll,
A vagrant or a king. 
What though the crown be melted down,
And the heir a gypsy roam? 
The Kavanagh receives to-night! 
McMurrough is at home!

We three and the barley-bree! 
And the moonlight on the floor! 
Who were a man to do with less? 
What emperor has more? 
Three stone jugs of Cruiskeen Lawn,
And three stout hearts to drain
A slanter to the truth in the heart of youth
And the joy of the love of men.

A CAPTAIN OF THE PRESS-GANG.

Shipmate, leave the ghostly shadows,
Where thy boon companions throng! 
We will put to sea together
Through the twilight with a song.

Leering closer, rank and girding,
In this Black Port where we bide,
Reel a thousand flaring faces;
But escape is on the tide.

Let the tap-rooms of the city
Reek till the red dawn comes round. 
There is better wine in plenty
On the cruise where we are bound.