I.
Thou por'st on Helvicus, and studiest in vain,
How many years pass'd betwixt King and King's reign,
To make an old woman ev'n twitter for joy
At an eighty-eight story, or the scuffle at Troy:
But where the good wine, and best fire is
When the cruel North-wind does blow,
And the trees do penance in snow;
Where the poet's delight and desire is,
Thou, pitiful book-worm, ne'er troublest thy brain.
II.
Come, drawer, some claret, we'll drown this new Moon. 10
More candles t' improve this dull night into noon:
let the healths, let the house, and the glasses turn round,
But no tears, except those of the tankard, abound.
Come! here's a good health to the Muses,
Three brimmers to the three times three,
And one to each grace let there be;
The triple-skull'd dog bite him that refuses.
III.
Let's be mad as March-hares, call the minstrels and singers,
Strike up there!--kick that rogue--he has chilblains on's fingers, 20
Let that whoreson our neighbour, on his bags that lies thinking,
Bear a part in the storm, but not the calm of our drinking.
Come! bring us a wench, or two, prithee;
Thou Telephus look'st pretty fair,
And hast a good thick head of hair,
Fetch him Chloe, she's buxom, and loves to trade with thee;
Call Glycera to me, for I am one of her swingers.
[xix. A good example of the curious 'skimble skamble'
anapaests before Dryden and Prior.]
[Line: 4 an eighty-eight story] Of the Armada.]