SONG
FROM THE COMEDY OF “SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.”

Scene.—A Room in the Alehouse, “The Three Pigeons.”

Let schoolmasters puzzle their brain,
 With grammar, and nonsense, and learning—
 Good liquor, I stoutly maintain,
 Gives genus a better discerning.
 Let them brag of their heathenish gods—
 Their Lethes, and Styxes, and Stygians;
 Their Quis, and their Quæs, and their Quods:
 They ’re all but a parcel of Pigeons.
 To-roddle, to-roddle, to-rol.
When methodist preachers come down,
 A-preaching that drinking is sinful,
 I’ll wager the rascals a crown,
 They always preach best with a skinful.
 But when you come down with your pence,
 For a slice of their scurvy religion,
 I’ll leave it to all men of sense—
 But you, my good friend, are the Pigeon.
 To-roddle, &c.

Then, come, put the jorum about,
 And let us be merry and clever;
 Our hearts and our liquors are stout—
 Here’s the “Three Jolly Pigeons” for ever!
 Let some cry up woodcock or hare,
 Your bustards, your ducks, and your widgeons;
 But of all the gay birds in the air—
 Here’s a health to the “Three Jolly Pigeons.”
 To-roddle, &c.