Some love to stroll where the wassail-bowl
And the wine-cups circle free;
None of that band shall win my hand:
No! a sober spouse for me.
Like cheerful streams when morning beams,
With him my life would flow;
Not down the crags, the drunkard drags
His wife to want and wo!
Oh! no, no, no!— oh! no, no, no!
At midnight dark, the drunkard mark —
Oh, what a sight, good lack!
As home draws near, to him appear
Grim fiends who cross his track!
His children's name he dooms to shame —
His wife to want and wo;
She is betrayed, for wine is made
Her rival and her foe.
Oh! no, no, no!— oh! no, no, no!