We've learned what comfort is, I tell you: A bed on the floor, a bit of rosin, A fire to thaw our thumbs (poor fellow, The paw he holds up there has been frozen), Plenty of catgut for my fiddle, (This outdoor business is bad for strings), Then a few nice buckwheats hot from the griddle, And Roger and I set up for kings!
No, thank you, 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-- 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! Paws up! eyes front! salute your officer! 'Bout face! attention! take your rifle! (Some dogs have arms, you see.) Now hold Your cap while the gentleman gives 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 me 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.