Page:Saturday night.pdf/21

 Just then his wife enter'd, a child at her breast,

And three rather older amid the crowd prest;

Oh where is my husband! my daddy, they cry,

Oh dear they have kill'd him! I'm sure he will die.

Ah! liquor and drinking, the wife feebly said,

Then dropt her sweet baby, and fainting she laid

Across her fall’n husband, and clasping him round,

In shiv'ring hysteric fits beat the hard ground!

Tom Toper's big boy heard the fray and the noise,

And left his chuck farthing among idle boys;

He lov'd to play truant, he ne'er went to school,

But loiter'd and snor'd out the day like a fool.

He heard there was liquor, that some had too much;

He lov'd to be fawning and coaxing with such;

Taught to drink by his dad, from a babe he was spoil'd,

Did the same as old Tom did, his father's own child.

With his face full of glee, at his father he leer'd,

Cock'd his eye with a squint at the blood on his beard;

Cries out, dad here's your health, as he took up the can,

Full of courage and liquor, my dad is the man.

The father who stiff, and full dirty, and sore,

Had began now to breathe, had bespoke a pot more;

He just ey'd its full froth, and was tipping the wink,

When he furious cried out, as he saw his son drink—