But maistly thee, the bluid o’ Scots,
  Frae Maidenkirk to John o’ Grots,
  The king o’ drinks, as I conceive it,
  Talisker, Isla, or Glenlivet! 
  For after years wi’ a pockmantie
  Frae Zanzibar to Alicante,
  In mony a fash an’ sair affliction
  I gie ’t as my sincere conviction—­
  Of a’ their foreign tricks an’ pliskies,
  I maist abominate their whiskies. 
  Nae doot, themsel’s, they ken it weel,
  An’ wi’ a hash o’ leemon peel,
  An’ ice an’ siccan filth, they ettle
  The stawsome kind o’ goo to settle;
  Sic wersh apothecary’s broos wi’
  As Scotsmen scorn to fyle their moo’s wi’.
The Scotman’s Return from Abroad R.L.  STEVENSON.

  This bottle’s the sun of our table,
    His beams are rosy wine;
  We planets that are not able,
    Without his help to shine.
The Duenna, Act iii.  Sc. 5.  R.B.  SHERIDAN.

  Now to rivulets from the mountains
    Point the rods of fortune-tellers;
  Youth perpetual dwells in fountains,
    Not in flasks, and casks, and cellars.
Drinking Song H.W.  LONGFELLOW.

In vain I trusted that the flowing bowl
Would banish sorrow, and enlarge the soul. 
To the late revel, and protracted feast,
Wild dreams succeeded, and disordered rest.
Solomon, Bk.  II.  M. PRIOR.

                  And now, in madness,
  Being full of supper and distempering draughts,
  Upon malicious bravery, dost thou come
  To start my quiet.
Othello, Act i.  Sc. 1.  SHAKESPEARE.

He that is drunken.... 
Is outlawed by himself; all kind of ill
Did with his liquor slide into his veins.
The Temple:  The Church Porch.  G. HERBERT.

A drunkard clasp his teeth, and not undo ’em,
To suffer wet damnation to run through ’em.
The Revenger’s Tragedy, Act iii.  Sc. 1.  C. TOURNEUR.

I told you, sir, they were red-hot with drinking;
So full of valor that they smote the air
For breathing in their faces; beat the ground
For kissing of their feet.
Tempest, Act iv.  Sc. 1.  SHAKESPEARE.

                          Of my merit
    On thet point you yourself may jedge;
  All is, I never drink no sperit,
    Nor I hain’t never signed no pledge.
The Biglow Papers, First Series, No.  VII. 
   J.R.  LOWELL.

DUTY.

So nigh is grandeur to our dust,
So near is God to man,
When Duty whispers low, Thou must,
The youth replies, I can.
Voluntaries.  R.W.  EMERSON.

  Not once or twice in our rough island story,
  The path of duty was the way to glory.
Ode:  Death of the Duke of Wellington.  A. TENNYSON.

  When I’m not thanked at all, I’m thanked enough: 
  I’ve done my duty, and I’ve done no more.
Tom Thumb.  H. FIELDING.