Pope, The

The Pope he leads a happy life,     He fears not married care nor strife.     He drinks the best of Rhenish wine,     I would the Pope's gay lot were mine.     But yet all happy's not his life,     He has no maid, nor blooming wife;     No child has he to raise his hope,     I would not wish to be the Pope.     The Sultan better pleases me,     His is a life of jollity;     He's wives as many as he will,     I would the Sultan's throne then fill.     But even he's a wretched man,     He must obey the Alcoran;     He dare not drink one drop of wine     I would not change his lot for mine.     So here I'll take my lowly stand,     I'll drink my own, my native land;     I'll kiss my maiden fair and fine,     And drink the best of Rhenish wine.     And when my maiden kisses me     I'll think that I the Sultan be;     And when my cheery glass I tope,     I'll fancy then I am the Pope.