In vain he wooed, in vain he sued,

The maid was cold and proud,

And sent him off to Coventry,

While on his way to Stroud.

He fretted all the way to Stroud,
And thence all back to town,

The course of love was never smooth,
So his went up and down.

L

At last her coldness made him pine

To merely bones and skin,

But still he loved like one resolved

O Mary! view my wasted back,
And see my dwindled calf;
Tho' I have never had a wife,

I've lost my better half.

Alas, in vain he still assail'd,

Her heart withstood the dint;

Though he had carried sixteen stone He could not move a flint.

Worn out, at last he made a vow
To break his being's link;

For he was so reduced in size,
At nothing he could shrink.

Now some will talk in water's praise, And waste a deal of breath,

But John, tho' he drank nothing else, He drank himself to death!

The cruel maid that caused his love
Found out the fatal close,

For looking in the butt, she saw
The butt-end of his woes.

Some say his spirit haunts the Crown,

But that is only talk

For after riding all his life,

His ghost objects to walk!

LL you that are too fond of wine,
Or any other stuff,

Take warning by the dismal fate

Of one Lieutenant Luff.

A sober man he might have been,

Except in one regard,

He did not like soft water,

So he took to drinking hard!

But I am no Bohemian,

So do not like Bohea.

If wine's a poison, so is Tea,

Though in another shape:

What matter whether one is kill'd By canister or grape!"

According to this kind of taste
Did he indulge his drouth,
And being fond of Port, he made
A port-hole of his mouth!

A single pint he might have sipp'd
And not been out of sorts,

In geologic phrase the rock
He split upon was quarts!

To "hold the mirror up to vice'
With him was hard, alas!

The worse for wine he often was,
But not "before a glass."

No kind and prudent friend had he
To bid him drink no more,—

The only chequers in his course

Were at a tavern door!