Let schoolmasters puzzle their brains With grammar and nonsense and learning; Good liquor, I stoutly maintain, Gives genius a better discerning. Let them brag of their heathenish gods, Their Lethes, their Styxes and Stygians; Their quis and their quaes and their quods, They're all but a parcel of pigeons. Toroddle, toroddle, toroll. When methodist preachers come down, A-preaching that drinking is sinful, I 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. Toroddle, toroddle, toroll. 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 birds in the air, Here's a health to the Three Jolly Pigeons. Toroddle, toroddle, toroll. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DESERTED GARDEN by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING CA' THE YOWES TO THE KNOWES by ROBERT BURNS HOLY CHRISTMAS by GEORGE HERBERT PROLOGUE, SPOKEN BY MR. GARRICK AT ... THEATRE ROYALE, 1747 by SAMUEL JOHNSON (1709-1784) TO A POET THAT DIED YOUNG by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE by EDWIN ARNOLD MUFFLED by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |