Dear Jack, this white mug that with Guinness I fill, <br />And drink to the health of sweet Nan of the Hill, <br />Was once Tommy Tosspot's, as jovial a sot <br />As e'er drew a spigot, or drain'd a full pot— <br />In drinking all round 'twas his joy to surpass, <br />And with all merry tipplers he swigg'd off his glass. <br /> <br />One morning in summer, while seated so snug, <br />In the porch of his garden, discussing his jug, <br />Stern Death, on a sudden, to Tom did appear, <br />And said, 'Honest Thomas, come take your last bier.' <br />We kneaded his clay in the shape of this can, <br />From which let us drink to the health of my Nan.<br /><br />William Makepeace Thackeray<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dear-jack-2/
