Page:Bessy Bell & Mary Gray (1).pdf/5

 Out of which I now drink to sweet Nan of the vale, Was once Toby Filpot, a thirsty old soul As e'er drank a bottle, or fathom'd a bowl. In boozing about ‘twas his praise to ex- cel, And among jolly topers he bore off the bell.

It chanc'd as in dog-days he sat at his ease, In his flow'r-woven arbour, as gay as you please, With a friend and a pipe puffing sorrow away, And with honest old stingo was soaking his clay, His breath doors of life on a sudden were shut, And he died full as big as a Dorchester butt.

His body, when long in the ground it had lain, And time into clay had resolv'd it again; A potter found out in its covert so snug.