62 



Then kick him out, with epithets abusive ; 

 Nor let such croaking meddlers interfere 

 With one s brief current of enjoyment here. 



In tippling, some the fleeting moments pass, 



Diluting sorrow in the jovial glass : 



O er reeking fumes, they love to wax loquacious, 



And then sick, amorous, or pugnacious. 



As round the bowl, in drunken fit, they gather, 



Great Bacchus knocks their muddled pates together, 



Of brain bereft ; than any timber thicker, 



So thick, that nothing can get in but liquor ! 



Loud grows the revel, loud the ribald song, 



And strongest heads their maudlin wit prolong 



Far into morn ; while, here and there, in rags, 



Outside, pale-faced Starvation, shivering, begs. 



To lectures many, where, for a &quot;quarter&quot; 

 Some pscudo-savan pours out wit like water ; 

 Peers o er his specs, like goosey o er a fence, 

 And beats the desk, in grandest eloquence : 

 With metaphysics heats some simple theme, 

 Then gets bewildered in his self-raised steam ; 

 Confounded by his own wild exhalations, 

 Gets wilder still in deeper explorations 



