Tis a story of a toper: I knew him passing well,— A shoemaker in Natick, Which is oftentimes called — well- Of course you've heard the story; So I will not stop to tell.
He was the hardest drinker
For many miles around; Though, as a waggish chap remarked, "Hard drinker! I'll be bound He drinks about as easy As any man I've found!"
There chanced to be a "sample-room" Close by his little shop, In which, "just to be neighborly," He frequently would drop, And "take a little something warm," From gin to gin-gei pop.
One day he went as usual; And, finding no one in, He spied upon the counter What he supposed was gin, And straightway took a "nipper" From the bottle it was in.
Surveying, a la connoisseur, The name the bottle bore, He found 'twas aquafortis, Which he had taken "raw," — "A brand," quoth he, "I ne'er did see, And never drank before."
Just then his neighbor happened in; And, tremulous with fear, (The bottle told the story,) He asked if he felt queer, And if he'd have a doctor called, As one was living near.
"Don't worry," said the shoemaker: "I'm all'right, I believe. There's but one thing that's curious: I really can't conceive Why, when I wipe my mouth, it burns A hole right through my sleeve!"