Here's to the maiden of bashful fifteen;
Here's to the widow of fifty;
Here's to the flaunting, read more

Here's to the maiden of bashful fifteen;
Here's to the widow of fifty;
Here's to the flaunting, extravagant quean;
And here's to the housewife that's thrifty.
(Chorus:) Let the toast pass,--
Drink to the lass,
I'll warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.

The thirst that from the soul doth rise,
Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of read more

The thirst that from the soul doth rise,
Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of Jove's nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.

St. Leon raised his kindling eye,
And lifts the sparkling cup on high;
"I drink to one," read more

St. Leon raised his kindling eye,
And lifts the sparkling cup on high;
"I drink to one," he said,
"Whose image never may depart,
Deep graven on this grateful heart,
Till memory be dead."
. . . .
St. Leon paused, as if he would
Not breathe her name in careless mood
Thus lightly to another;
Then bent his noble head, as though
To give the word the reverence due,
And gently said, "My mother!"

To the old, long life and treasure;
To the young, all health and pleasure.

To the old, long life and treasure;
To the young, all health and pleasure.

Drink to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss read more

Drink to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,
And I'll not look for wine.

I, whenever I see thee, thirst, and holding the cup, apply it to
my lips more for thy sake read more

I, whenever I see thee, thirst, and holding the cup, apply it to
my lips more for thy sake than for drinking.

Here's to the red of it,
There's not a thread of it,
No, not a shred of read more

Here's to the red of it,
There's not a thread of it,
No, not a shred of it,
In all the spread of it,
From foot to head,
Not heroes bled for it,
Faced steel and lead for it,
Precious blood shed for it,
Bathing in red.

The wind that blows, the ship that goes
And the lass the loves a sailor.

The wind that blows, the ship that goes
And the lass the loves a sailor.

I am from Massachusetts,
The land of the sacred cod,
There the Adamses snub the Abootts
read more

I am from Massachusetts,
The land of the sacred cod,
There the Adamses snub the Abootts
And the Cabots walk with God.