_R. B. Sheridan._
THE LEATHER BOTTEL.
'Twas God above that made all things,
The heav'ns, the earth, and all therein:
The ships that on the sea do swim
To guard from foes that none come in;
And let them all do what they can,
'Twas for one end--the use of man.
So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell
That first found out the leather bottel.
Now, what do you say to these cans of wood?
Oh, no, in faith they cannot be good;
For if the bearer fall by the way,
Why, on the ground your liquor doth lay;
But had it been in a leather bottel,
Although he had fallen all had been well.
So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell
That first found out the leather bottel.
Then what do you say to these glasses fine?
Oh, they shall have no praise of mine;
For if you chance to touch the brim,
Down falls the liquor and all therein.
But had it been in a leather bottel,
And the stopple in, all had been well.
So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell
That first found out the leather bottel.
Then what do you say to these black pots three?
If a man and his wife should not agree,
Why, they'll tug and pull till their liquor doth spill;
In a leather bottel they may tug their fill,
And pull away till their hearts do ake,
And yet their liquor no harm can take.
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