Full Lyrics
Full Bags, a brisk Bottle, and a Beautiful Face,
Are the three greatest Blessings poor Mortals embrace,
But alas, we grow Muckworms if Bags do but fill,
And a bonny gay Dame often ends in a Pill:
Then hey for brisk Claret, whose Pleasures ne'er waste,
By a Bumper we're rich, and by two we are chaste.
