Nor here to pause--I own thy potent power,
When chilling blasts assail our frigid clime,
While flies the hail or rudely beats the shower,
Or sad impatience chides the wings of time.
Come, then, my pipe, and let thy savoury cloud,
Now wisdom seldom shews her rev'rend mien,
Spread round my head a bland and shelt'ring shroud,
When riot mingles mischief with the scene.
Shield me at evening from the selfish fool,
The wretch who never felt for human woes,
And while my conduct's framed by virtue's rule,
Let only peace and honour interpose.
Shield me by day from hatred's threat'ning frowns,
Still let thine aromatic curtains spread,
When bold presumption mounts to put me down,
And hurls his maledictions round my head.
Do this, my pipe, and till my sand's run out,
I'll sing thy praise among the sons of wealth,
Blest weed that bids the glutton lose his gout,
And gains respect among the drugs of health.
No shrew shall harm thee, no mundungus foul
Shall stain thy lining, as the ermine white;
My choicest friends shall revel o'er thy bowl,
And charm away the terrors of the night.
From ample hoards I'll bring the fragrant spoils,
The richest herb from Kerebequa's shores,
That grateful weed, that props the British Isles,
And Sussex,[6] England's Royal Duke adores.
_The Social Pipe._