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TOPERS AND MOPERS
A
RE
not topers hood-winked mopers
Through this vale of
tears~
Growing madder, growing sadder,
As they grow in
years~
Are not drinkers, daily sinkers
In the mire of sin'?
What's undone them'? Out upon them!
Brandy, rum and gin!
When a. fellow gets "real mellow,"
Turn your eyes that way;
See him "pick-up," hear him hich-up !
Hark his ass-like bray!
See their wives all-woe survives all,
Death steals on a pace;
Sorrows traces on their faces
Wither every grace!
And their young ones, prattling tongu'd
om~s,
Hang the drooping head-
Curse the father who can rather
Drink than see them fed.
But
can drunken men, so sunken,
Tread the upward path'?
No! they're flying, rushing, hieing
To eternal wrath.
·
Henry Atherton.
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