It is not the fmack

Of Ale, or of Sack,

That can with Tobacco compare :

For Tafte, and for Smell

It bears away the Bell

From 'em both where ever they are:

For all their Bravado,

It is Trinidado

That both their Nofes will wipe Of the praises they defire,

Unless they conspire

To Sing to the Tune of his Pipe.

BAC

n: 157

BACCHU S's Feast.

ACCHUS when merry beftriding his Tun,
Proclaim'd a new Neighbourly Feaft:

The first that appear'd was a Man of the Gown,
A Jolly Parochial Priest ;

He fill'd up his Bowl, drank Healths to the Church,
Preferring it to the King,

Altho' he long fince left both in the lurch,

Yet he canted like any thing.

The next was a Talkative Blade whom we cal'

A Doctor of the Civil Law,

Who gufled and drank up the Devil and all,
As faft as the Drawers could draw :
But Healths to all Nobles he ftifly deny'd,
Tho' luftily he could Swill,

Because still the fafter the Quality dy'd,

It brought the more Grift to his Mill.

The next a Physician to Ladies and Lords,
Who eases all Sickness and Pain,

And conjures Diftempers away with hard Words;
Which he knows is the head of his gain :

He step'd from his Coach, fill'd his Cup to the brim
And quaffing did freely agree,

That Bacchus who gave us fuch Cordial to drink

Was a better Physician than he.

The next was a Justice who never read Law,
With Twenty Informers behind,

On Free-coft he Tippl'd and still bid 'em draw,
"Till his Worship had drunk himself blind :

Then

Then reeling away they all rambled in quest
Of Drunkards and Jilts of the Town,
That they might be punish'd to frighten the rest,
Except they wou'd drop him a Crown.

The fifth was a tricking Attorney at Law,

By Tally-men chiefly imploy'd,

Who lengthned his Bill with Co-hy- and Maw-draw; And a Hundred fuch Items befide;

The Healths that he drank was to Wefiminfler-Hall, And to all the Grave Dons of the Gown, Rependum & Petro, dorendum & Paul,

Such Latin as never was known.

The last that appear'd was a Soldier in Red,
With his Hair doubled under his Hat,
Who was by his Trade a fine Gentleman made,
Tho' as hungry and poor as a Rat:

He swore by his G-d, tho' he liv'd by his King,
Or the help of fome impudent Punk,

That he would not depart 'till he had made the Butt And himself moft confoundedly Drunk.

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