A POEM. 



127 



And to the girls whose cherish'd forms you wear 

 In your hearts' cores, with whom you hope to share, 

 Upon no distant day, all joys and woes, 

 Pledg'd are the brimming bumpers ; you propose 

 The mistress of your friend ; he your's with cheers : 

 Those who love not, can have but faint ideas. 



The game brought in, and on the table laid, 

 In sorting them for presents much is said ; 

 Each recollects his birds, and where he kill'd ; 

 Shows those well sav'd, says nought of those well 



drill' d; 



Straightway some names of valued friends you write 

 On scraps of ancient deed, (p'rhaps tripartite,) 

 These round their heads well tied, dismiss'd by coach 

 Are order'd soon to be. Your friend will broach 

 The second bottle, each in turn will tell 

 Some splendid hit he made, some death dealt well ; 

 Knows to an inch each scientific shot, 

 Some one of which may never be forgot, 



