HERE's to him that grows it, Drink, lads, drink! That lays it in and mows it, Clink, jugs, clink! To him that mows and makes it, That scatters it and shakes it, That turns, and teds, and rakes it, Clink, jugs, clink! Now here's to him that stacks it, Drink, lads, drink! That thrashes and that tacks it, Clink, jugs, clink! That cuts it out for eating, When March-dropp'd lambs are bleating, And the slate-blue clouds are sleeting, Drink, lads, drink! And here's to thane and yeoman, Drink, lads, drink! To horseman and to bowman, Clink, jugs, clink! To lofty and to low man, Who bears a grudge to no man, But flinches from no foeman, Drink, lads, drink! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A DOUBLE STANDARD by FRANCES ELLEN WATKINS HARPER EPITAPH ON AN ARMY OF MERCENARIES by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN UPON THE SAYING THAT MY VERSES WERE MADE BY ANOTHER by ANNE KILLIGREW THE ART OF PRESERVING HEALTH: BOOK 3. ON WASHING by JOHN ARMSTRONG |