Fillpot

( Toby ), a thirsty old soul, who “among jolly topers bore off the bell.” It chanced as in dog-days he sat boosing in his arbor, that he died “full as big as a Dor chester butt.” His body turned to clay, and out of the clay a brown jug was made, sacred to friendship, mirth, and mild ale. His body, when long in the ground it had lain, And time into clay had resolved it again, A potter found out in its covert so snug, And with part of fat Toby he formed this brown jug, Now sacred to friendship, to mirth, and mild ale. So here’s to my lovely sweet Nan of the vale. Rev. Francis Fawkes (1721-1777). ⁂ The two best drinking songs in the language were both by clergymen. The other is, I Cannot Eat but Little Meat , by John Still, bishop of Bath and Wells (1534-1607).