Quick hermit! what a peaceful change hadst thou, Without the noise of haircloth, whip, or vow! But there is no redemption? must there be No other penance but of liberty? Why, two months hence, if thou continue thus, Thy memory will scarce remain with us, The drawers have forgot thee, and exclaim They have not seen thee here since Charles, his reign, Or if they mention thee, like some old man, That at each word inserts--"Sir, as I can Remember"--so the cyph'rers puzzle me With a dark, cloudy character of thee. That--certs!--I fear thou wilt be lost, and we Must ask the fathers ere't be long for thee. Come! leave this sullen state, and let not wine And precious wit lie dead for want of thine. Shall the dull market-landlord with his rout Of sneaking tenants dirtily swill out This harmless liquor? shall they knock and beat For sack, only to talk of rye and wheat? O let not such prepost'rous tippling be In our metropolis; may I ne'er see Such tavern-sacrilege, nor lend a line To weep the rapes and tragedy of wine! Here lives that chymic, quick fire which betrays Fresh spirits to the blood, and warms our lays. I have reserv'd 'gainst thy approach a cup That were thy Muse stark dead, shall raise her up, And teach her yet more charming words and skill Than ever C[oe]lia, Chloris, Astrophil, Or any of the threadbare names inspir'd Poor rhyming lovers with a mistress fir'd. Come then! and while the slow icicle hangs At the stiff thatch, and Winter's frosty pangs Benumb the year, blithe--as of old--let us 'Midst noise and war of peace and mirth discuss. This portion thou wert born for: why should we Vex at the time's ridiculous misery? An age that thus hath fool'd itself, and will --Spite of thy teeth and mine--persist so still. Let's sit then at this fire, and while we steal A revel in the town, let others seal, Purchase or cheat, and who can, let them pay, Till those black deeds bring on the darksome day. Innocent spenders we! a better use Shall wear out our short lease, and leave th' obtuse Rout to their husks; they and their bags at best Have cares in earnest; we care for a jest. MONSIEUR GOMBAULD.