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Song 1

My beers came o'er the world to me:

Women barely budg'd;

Drinks are spilling, frothing, creamy—

Not a drip o'er-trudg'd.

Tobacco, too, shipp'd far a-from,

Lets me roll and tongue;

But she is beat, or bored, or numb—

Leaves me full of lung.

Barman, I'm not dazed and dozing,

Gazing on this glass—

Seeing dewy forest fizzing,

Dreaming of a lass.

As far as Holland's Grolsch, far as

California wine—

I wouldn't haunt this bar as

Much, if her house had me dine!