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Poem	Now do I hear thee weep and groan, Who hath a comrade sunk at sea? Then quaff thee of my good old ale, And it will raise him up for thee; Thoul't think as little of him then As when he moved with living men. If thou hast hopes to move the world, And every effort it doth fail, Then to thy side call Jack and Jim, And bid them drink with thee good ale; So may the world, that would not hear, Perish in hell with all your care. One quart of good ale, and I Feel then what life immortal is: The brain is empty of all thought, The heart is brimming o'er with bliss; Time's first child, Life, doth live; but Death, The second, hath not yet his breath. Give me a quart of good old ale, Am I a homeless man on earth? Nay, I want not your roof and quilt, I'll lie warm at the moon's cold hearth; No grumbling ghost to grudge my bed, His grave, ha! ha! holds up my head.
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