To quench their lowin' drouth. [flaming]
Then owre again the jovial thrang [over, crowd]
The poet did request
To lowse his pack, an' wale a sang, [untie, choose]
A ballad o' the best;
He rising, rejoicing,
Between his twa Deborahs,
Looks round him, an' found them
Impatient for the chorus.

Air

TUNE: Jolly Mortals, Fill Your Glasses

See the smoking bowl before us,
Mark our jovial ragged ring;
Round and round take up the chorus,
And in raptures let us sing:

CHORUS

A fig for those by law protected!
Liberty's a glorious feast!
Courts for cowards were erected,
Churches built to please the priest.

What is title? what is treasure?
What is reputation's care?
If we lead a life of pleasure,
'Tis no matter how or where!