With kegs and bottles on each hand,
Her face decked with a winning smile,
Her head with cap of ancient style,
Crowned arbiter of frolic's fate,
Mother McGinty sat in state,
And measured out the mountain dew
To those whom strong attraction drew
Within the circle of her power,
To while away a leisure hour.
She was the hostess and the host,
She kept the reckoning, ruled the roast,
And swung an arm of potent might
That few would dare to brave in fight;
Yet was she a good-natured soul,
As ever filled the flowing bowl;
In sooth she dealt in goodly cheer,
Half-pints of whiskey, quarts of beer,
Strong doses of sweet peppermint,
Fine old Jamaica without stint,
And shrub--a cordial then well known--
Her thirsty customers poured down,
Nor dreamed of headaches, or of ills,
For nought killed then, but doctors' pills!
The song, the dance, and glass went round,
The precincts of that classic ground;
And when bent on a tearing spree,
Filled full of grog and jollity,
The bacchanalian rant they made
Would please even old Anacreon's shade,
While o'er them the athletic charms