The Glass of Grog

A Parody “almost impromptu” made at the Dinner Table

1

O Lady, mix no Grog for me,
Or mix it of the French Brandỳ!
Too ardent flows the Whiskey light,
Jamaica Rum is all too bright,
The Crême de Rose and Noyeau fine
May cheer a heart less sad than mine,
But, Lady, mix no Grog for me,
Or mix it of the French Brandỳ!

2

Let dimpled mirth his soul refine
With bright Champagne’s quick-sparkling wine;
The juice that near Oporto grew
To politician sage be due;
Deady’s Old Tom makes porters live,
But that Matilda will not give;
Then, Lady, mix no grog for me,
Or mix it of the French Brandỳ!

3

Let merry England proudly rear
Her frothy Porter, bought so dear;¹
Let Albin quaff, till utterance fail,
Her “Barley-broo”, her much-loved Ale;
In Erin’s mantling glass be seen
The Usquebagh, so bright and sheen;
But when you mix my grog for me,
Oh mix it of the French Brandỳ!

4

Yes, fill for me the goblet high,
And I will drain that goblet dry;
And when a few short sips are past,
And I have stirr’d and drunk the last,
When freely rings the clashing spoon
Against the glass — which will be soon — 
Then, Lady, fill again for me,
And fill it of the French Brandỳ!