song—“no churchman am i”（1/1）

song—“no churchman am i”

tune—“prepare, my dear brethren, to the tavern let's fly.”

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 a snare,

for a big-belly'd bottle's the whole of my care.

the peer i don't envy, i give him his bow;

i scorn not the peasant, though ever so low;

but a club of good fellows, like those that are here,

and a bottle like this, are my glory and care.

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-belly'd bottle still eases my care.

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-belly'd bottle's a cure for all care.

i once was persuaded a venture to make;

a letter inform'd me that all was to wreck;

but the pursy old landlord just waddl'd upstairs,

with a glorious bottle that ended my cares.

“life's cares they areforts”—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-belly'd bottle's a heav'n of a care.