Song.

(Air: "Elizabeth.")

O, what could be more soothing
Than a quiet hand of bridge!
Well, a snappy game of poker
And some brandy ripe and rich,
In the hearty-voiced confusion
In the card room of a pub.
We prefer the chaste seclusion,
Of a quiet country club.
Well, I've got a spotted liver
And I do enjoy my sleep
Though on many points we differ
We all like drinking deep.

Chorus.
Port wine's a dam' good wine,
Feel so funny,
Feel so fine;
Red the rubies shine . . .
Here's to Auld Lang Syne!
What though the path be thorny
And weary the journey,
When half a glass of tawny
Will make the saddest smile.

There is something like perfection
In the soothing after-glow,
So conducive to reflection
And thought's swift-moving flow.

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And each raconteur glories
To revel in the past . . .
We have heard the ripest stories
When the wine is flowing fast.
My dreams are always rosy
When I've had a port or two . . .
It makes you feel so cosy
When you're laid up with the flu.

What makes a Canon thaw,
Claw the floor,
And break the law?
Half a glass of port.
Then you'll see some sport.
What makes a party go,
And soul-starved spinsters shriek, "Hullo"
Big Boy, who said we were slow?
Half a glass of port,
Then you'll see some sport.