In Idle Wishes, Fools Supinely

And Took For Truth The Test Of Ridicule.

Lo! The Poor Toper Whose Untutored Sense, Sees Bliss In Ale, And Can With Wine Dispense; Whose Head Proud Fancy Never Taught To Steer, Beyond The Muddy Ecstasies Of Beer.

O Days Remember'd Well! Remember'd All! The Bitter Sweet, The Honey And The Gall; Those Garden Rambles In The Silent Night, Those Trees So Shady, And That Moon Se Bright, That Thickset Alley By The Arbor Clos'd, That Woodbine Seat Where We At Last Repos'd; And Then The Hopes That Came And Then Were Gone, Quick As The Clouds Beneath The Moon Past On.

The Wife Was Pretty, Trifling, Childish, Weak; She Could Not Think, But Would Not Cease To Speak.

The Gentle Fair On Nervous Tea Relies, Whilst Gay Good-nature Sparkles In Her Eyes; An Inoffensive Scandal Fluttering Round, Too Rough To Tickle, And Too Light To Wound.