Page:Saturday night.pdf/18

 He swallows the clothes, health, and comfort, I think,

Nay, the lives of his family down with his drink.

But sleeping and snoring with feverish head,

Was Lapstone the cobler, there down in the shade;

The shade was quite cool, and his sleep was quite sound,

The next day all his limbs with rheumatics were bound.

Three months lay groaning upon a sick bed,

Nor could stir hand or foot, or lift up his dull head;

His family starve, or the workhouse may find,

For no benefit-club drinking Sam ever join'd.

But tippling at length each one prevail'd,

Until drowsy & stupid their poor senses fail'd;

And tho' dreaming of drinking, they doz'd on the seat,

Till the breeze of the evening abated the heat.

Twas a good opportunity—sin begets sin,

For a traveller who saw what a state they were in

Saw a hole in John's pocket too, whence there was shown

A good new canvas bag, which he took for his own.

Now in this was his rent, forty shillings & more,

'Twas the price of his wife's cow he sold just before:

So he paid, dearly paid, for his mug of good ale,

With distress from his landlord, and 6 months in jail.

But when he awake he began t'enquire

For his bacco box new, just to light a fresh fire,