ROSIN THE BEAU

Words: American, ca. 1830
Tune: Rosin the Beau (Sawyer's Exit, Sacred Harp, p. 338)

 I live for the good of the nation,
  My sons are all growing low,
 I hope that the next generation
  Resembles Old Rosin the Beau.
 I've travell'd this country all over,
  And now to the next I will go;
 I know that good quarters await me,
  To welcome Old Rosin the Beau.

 In the gay round of pleasure I've travell'd,
  Nor will I behind leave a foe,
 And when my companions are jovial,
  They'll drink to Old Rosin the Beau;
 My life is now drawn to a closing,
  And all will at last be so,
 We'll take a full bumper at parting,
  To the name of Old Rosin the Beau.

 When I'm dead and laid on the counter,
  The people all making a show, 
 Just sprinkle plain whiskey and water,
  On the corpse of Old Rosin the Beau;
 I'll have to be buried, I reckon,
  And the ladies all want to know,
 They'll lift up the lid of my coffin,
  Saying, Here lies Old Rosin the Beau.

 Oh, when to my grave I am going,
  The children will all want to go,
 They'll run to the doors and the windows,
  Saying, There goes Old Rosin the Beau;
 Then pick me out six trusty fellows,
  And let them all stand in a row,
 And dig a big hole in the circle,
  And in it toss Rosin the Beau.

 Then shape me out two little donocks,
  Place one at my head and my toe,
 And do not forget to put on it
  The name of Old Rosin the Beau;
 Then let those six trusty fellows,
  Oh, let them all stand in a row,
 And take down that great-bellied bottle,
  And drink to Old Rosin the Beau.