The public house at closing hour,
Knew Tom's call for a gimlet sour.
Though that damson tart looked plump,
Tom called out for more beef rump.
A slow-eyed hubby's grafted wife,
White Lady took the seed to life.
Then from sheep the ram got torn,
She bade him drink some good blackthorn.
Distilled from sloe, medicinal gin,
Liquor allayed Tom's life of sin.
Then the good wife herself got ripped,
To stalwart cudgels for Tory whips.
