A Jug of Punch

One pleasant evening in the month of June

As I was sitting with my glass and spoon

A small bird sat on an ivy bunch

And the song he sang was The Jug of Punch

What more diversion can a man desire

Than to sit him down by a snug turf fire

Upon his knee a pretty wench

And on the table a jug of punch?

Let the doctors come with all their art

They'll make no impression upon my heart

Even the cripple forgets his hunch

When he's snug outside of a jug of punch

And if I get drunk, well the money's me own

And them that don't like me, they can leave me alone

I'll tune me fiddle, and I'll rosin me bow

And I'll be welcome wherever I go