The Cure For All Care.

Tune - "Prepare, my dear brethren, to the tavern let's fly." I.         No churchman am I for to rail and to write,         No statesman nor soldier to plot or to fight,         No sly man of business, contriving to snare,         For a big-bellied bottle's the whole of my care. II.         The peer I don't envy, I give him his bow;         I scorn not the peasant, tho' ever so low;         But a club of good fellows, like those that are here,         And a bottle like this, are my glory and care. III.         Here passes the squire on his brother, his horse;         There centum per centum, the cit with his purse;         But see you The Crown, how it waves in the air!         There a big-bellied bottle still eases my care. IV.         The wife of my bosom, alas! she did die;         For sweet consolation to church I did fly;         I found that old Solomon proved it fair,         That a big-bellied bottle's a cure for all care. V.         I once was persuaded a venture to make;         A letter inform'd me that all was to wreck;         But the pursy old landlord just waddled up stairs,         With a glorious bottle that ended my cares. VI.         "Life's cares they are comforts,"[1] a maxim laid down         By the bard, what d'ye call him, that wore the black gown;         And faith I agree with th' old prig to a hair;         For a big-bellied bottle's a heav'n of care. VII. Added In A Mason Lodge.         Then fill up a bumper and make it o'erflow.         The honours masonic prepare for to throw;         May every true brother of the compass and square         Have a big-bellied bottle when harass'd with care!