There's never a lord, an earl, or knight,
But in this bottle doth take delight;
For when he's hunting of the deer
He oft doth wish for a bottle of beer.
Likewise the man that works in the wood,
A bottle of beer will oft do him good.
So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell
That first found out the leather bottel.
And when the bottle at last grows old,
And will good liquor no longer hold,
Out of the side you may take a clout,
To mend your shoes when they're worn out;
Or take and hang it up on a pin,
'Twill serve to put hinges and old things in.
So I wish in heav'n his soul may dwell
That first found out the leather bottel.
WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE.
Woodman, spare that tree,
Touch not a single bough--
In youth it shelter'd me,
And I'll protect it now.
Twas my forefather's hand
That placed it near his cot.
There, woodman, let it stand,
Thy axe shall harm it not.
That old familiar tree,
Whose glory and renown
Are spread o'er land and sea,
Say, wouldst thou hack it down?
Woodman, forbear thy stroke,
Cut not its earth-bound ties--
Oh, spare that aged oak,
Now, towering to the skies.
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