Here's to the maiden of bashful fifteen,
Now to the widow of fifty;
Here's to the flaunting extravagant quean,
And here's to the housewife that's thrifty:
Let the toast pass,
Drink to the lass--
I warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.
Here's to the charmer whose dimples we prize,
Now to the damsel with none, sir;
Here's to the girl with a pair of blue eyes,
And now to the nymph with but one, sir:
Let the toast pass,
Drink to the lass--
I warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.
Here's to the maid with a bosom of snow,
Now to her that's as brown as a berry;
Here's to the wife with a face full of woe,
And now to the damsel that's merry:
Let the toast pass,
Drink to the lass--
I warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.
For let her be clumsy, or let her be slim,
Young or ancient, I care not a feather;
So fill up a bumper, nay, fill to the brim,
And let us e'en toast 'em together:
Let the toast pass,
Drink to the lass--
I warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.
_R. B. Sheridan._