You may talk of St. Valentine all his month




You may talk of St. Valentine all his month round,

And discourse about June for some brace of days longer;

But no saint in the Kalendar ever was found,

Throughout the whole year, either merrier or stronger

Than his reverence to whom you must now fill your glass,—

Many years to him, whether tipsy or sober!—

And his name when you've heard, you will let the malt pass,

Singing "Hip, hip, hurrah! here's success to October!"




Were I Dan Maclise, his sweet saintship I'd paint

With his face like John Reeve's, and in each hand a rummer;

And write underneath, "Oh! good luck to the saint

Who comes in the days between winter and summer!"

Yes, the jolly gay chap has well chosen his time,

He is here as the leaves are beginning to yellow,

For he knows it is not when the grapes are in prime

That their juice is most fit for a hearty gay fellow.




And though, without leave from the council or pope,

In Bentley's Miscellany I canonize him

Thus late in the day, still I'm not without hope

There are some who, perhaps, will not wholly despise him:

Tis for such lads as they are, and each jolly lass,

Who can smile on them whether they're tipsy or sober,

That new saints should be made. Come, then, fill up each glass,

And "Hip, hip, hurrah! one cheer more for October!"