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'Tis when we drink the lealt,
That we drink most like a beast; But when we carouse it fix in hand,
"Tis then, and only then,
That we drink the most like men,
HE man that is drunk is void of all care,
He needs neither Parthian quiver nor spear: The Moors poison'd dart he scorns for to wield; His botile alone is his
Undaunted he goes among bullies and whores,
No monster could put you in half so much fear,
Come place me, ye deities, under the line,
Or place me where sunshine is ne'er to be found,
My tutor may Job me, and lay me down rules;
'Twas thus Alexander was tutor'd in vain,
This world is a tavern, with liquor well ford,
EF ROM AURELIUS AUGURELLUS.)
BY DR. PARNEL L.
AY Bacchus, liking Efcourts wine,
A noble meal bespoke us ; And for the guests that were to dine,
Brought Comus, Love, and Jocus.
The god near Cupid drew his chair,
Near Comus Jocus plac'd;
And mirth exalts a feast.
The more to please the fpritely god,
Each sweet engaging grace
And took a waiters place.
Then Cupid nam'd at every glass
A lady of the sky,
And had it bumper high.
Fat Comus tossd his brimmer o'er,
And always got the mot; Jocus took care to fill him more,
Whene'er he miss’d the toaft.
They call'd, and drank at every touch,
Then fillid and drank again; And if the gods can take too much
'Tis said, they did so then. Free jets run all the table round,
And with the wine conspire
To set their heads on fire.
By reck’ning his deceits ;
With all his stagg'ring gaits.
And Jocus drolld on Comus' ways,
And tales without a jeft;
But waggeries at best.
Such talk soon set them all at odds,
And had I Homers pen;
And how they fought like men.
Who made them soon agree;
They still were three to three.
Bacchus appeas'd, rais'd Cupid up,
him back his bow ;
Where fack and sugar flow.
Jocus took Comus' rosy crown,
And gayly wore the prize,
As thrice he trove to rise.
Then Cupid sought the myrtle grove,
Where Venus did recline,
They join'd to rail at wine.
And Comus, loudly curfing wit,
Roll'd off to some retreat,
Bacchus and Jocus ftill behind,
For one fresh glass prepare ;
And vow to be fincere.
But part in time, whoever hear
This our instructive song ;
They can't continue long.
A TRUE AND LAMENTABLE BALLAD;
THE EARL S D E F E A T.
To the Tune of Chevy-Chase.
BY THE DUKE OF WHARTON.
On both fides Naughter and gigantick deeds.
OD prosper long from being broke
The Luck * of Eden-Hall, A doleful drinking-bout I fing,
There lately did befal.
To chase the fpleen with cup and can
Duke Philip took his way, Babes yet unborn shall never see
The like of such a day.
* A pint bumper at fir Christopher Musgraves.