IV. 'Twas Stingo like this made Alcides fo bold, It brac'd up his nerves, and enliven'd his pow'rs; And his myftical club, that did wonders of old, Was nothing, my lads, but fuch liquor as ours. The horrible crew That Hercules flew, Were Poverty-Calumny-Trouble-and Fear: Apply for a forum of Newcastle Beer. V.. Ye youngsters, fo diffident, languid and palė, Whom love, like the cholic, fo rudely infefts; Take a cordial of this, 'twill probatum prevail And drive the cur Cupid away from your breafts: Dull whining defpife, Nor longer the jeft of good fellows appear; Get drunk and be jolly,. And fmoke o'er a tankard of Newcastle Beer. Yo VI. Ye fanciful folk, for whom phyfic prescribes, Whom bolus and potion have harafs'd to death! Ye wretches, whom law and her ill-looking tribes, Have hunted about 'till you're quite out of breath! Here's shelter and ease, No craving for fees, No danger,-no doctor,-no bailiff is near! It cures your diseases, There's freedom and health in our Newcastle Beer. 0000 THE S T: THE TO A S A CAT CH. IVE THE TOAST-my good fellow, be jovial and gay, GIVE And let the brifk moments pafs jocund away! HERE'S THE KING-take your bumpers, my brave British fouls, Who guards your fair freedom fhould crown your full bowls, LET HIM LIVE-long and happy, fee Lewis. brought down, And taste all the comforts, no cares of a crown. A 'TIS IS IN VIEW-(the rich bleffing kind nature bestow'd, To conquer our forrows, or lighten the load) A FULL FLASK !—the rich nectar this bottle contains In a flood of fresh rapture shall roll through our veins. LET IT BLEED—and caroufing this liquor divine, Sing an hymn to the God that first cultur'd the vine. ON D ON SIR W- -B 4 -T's BIRTH-D A Y. OES true felicity on grandeur wait? Delights the in the pageantry of shew? Say, can the glitt'ring gew gaws of the great An hour of inborn happiness bestow? He that is juft, benevolent, humane, In conscious rectitude fupremely blest, O'er the glad hearts of multitudes shall reign, Tho' the gay ftar ne'er blaz'd upon his breaft, Ye happy children of the hoary North, Hail the glad day that faw your patron born; Whose private virtues and whose public worth, Might the rich feats of Royalty adorn. STANZAS |