Of all the belles who Christ Church bless,
None's like the doctor's daughter{5};
Who hates affected squeamishness
Almost as much as water.
Unlike your modern dames, afraid
Of Bacchus's caresses;
She far exceeds the stoutest maid
Of excellent queen Bess's.
Hers were the days, says she, good lack,
The days to drink and munch in;
When butts of Burton, tuns of sack,
Wash'd down an ox for luncheon.
Confound your _nimpy-pimpy_ lass,
Who faints and fumes at liquor;
Give me the girl that takes her glass
Like Moses and the vicar.
4 Mr. C--ss, otherwise Crotchet C--ss, bachelor of music,
and organist of Christ Church College, St. John's College,
and St. Mary's Church. An excellent musician, and a jolly
companion: he published, some time since, a volume of
chants.
5 A once celebrated university toast, with whose
eccentricities we could fill a volume; but having received
an intimation that it would be unpleasant to the lady's
feelings, we gallantly forbear.
~226~~
True emblem of immortal ale,
So famed in British lingo;
Stout, beady, and a little _stale_--
Long live the Burton stingo!
"A vulgar ditty, by my faith," said the exquisite, "in the true English
style, all _fol de rol_, and a vile chorus to split the tympanum of
one's auricular organs: do, for heaven's sake, Echo, let us have
some _divertissement_ of a less boisterous character.
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