Page:John Brown's body by Stephen Vincent Benét.djvu/167

Strike up, strike up for Wingate's tune,
Strike up for Sally Dupré!
Strike up, strike up for the April moon,
And the rain on the lilae spray!
For Wingate Hall in its pride once more,
For the branch of myrtle over the door,
Because the men are back from the war;
For the clean bed waiting the dusty rider
And the punchbowl cooling for thirsty throttles,
For the hot cooks boiling the hams in cider
And Cudjo grinning at cobwebbed bottles—
The last of the win, the last of the wine,
The last of the '12 and the '29!
Three times voyages around the Cape
Till old Judge Brooke, with an oath oracular,
Pronounced it the living soul of the grape,
And the veriest dregs to be supernacular!

Old Judge Brooke with his double-chins
Sighing over his hoarded claret
And sending the last of his cherished bins
To the hospital-doctors with "I can spare it
But if you give it to some damned layman
Who doesn't know brandy from licorice-water
And sports a white ribbon, by fire and slaughter,
I'll hang the lot of you higher than Haman!

The Wingate cellars are nearly bare

But Miss Louisa is doing her hair