Lewistown Gazette

Parody on Ben Bolt.
BY A B'HOY.

Oh, don't you remember the b'hoys, Jim Holmes,
The b'hoys with noses so red?
Who drank with delight wherever they met,
And always went drunk to bed;
In the old grave yard, in the edge of the town,
In corners obscure and alone ;
They have gone to rest, for the gay young sprigs
Have dropp'd off, one by one.

Oh, don't you remember the jug, Jim Holmes,
And the spring at the foot of the hill?
Where oft we have lain, thro' the hot sum'r hour,
And drank to our utmost fill;
The spring is filled with mud, Jim Holmes,
And the wild hogs root all around.
And the good old jug, with its whiskey so sweet,
Lies broken and spilled on the ground.

Oh, don't you remember the tavern, Jim Holmes,
And the bar-keeper, kind and true,
And the little nook at the end of the bar,
Where we drank the wine that he drew?
The tavern is burnt to the ground, Jim Holmes,
The bottles are cracked and dry;
And of all the b'hoys who spreed it then,
There remains, Jim, but you and I.

There is a change in the things I love, Jim Holmes,
Of some 'tis right sorrowful to think,
For we feel that the wrongs are grievous to bear,
When they change to a levy a drink;
Many the months that have passed, Jim Holmes,
There is a change from the old to the new,
But friends will be false and friendship will change,
Ere I refuse, Jim, to drink with you.