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' reign; Or, if they mention thee, like some old man That at each word inserts--Sir, as I can Remember--so the cipherers puzzle me With a dark, cloudy character of thee; That, certes, 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? Oh, let not such preposterous 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 chemic quick-fire, which betrays Fresh spirits to the blood, and warms our lays; I have reserved, 'gainst thy approach, a cup, That, were thy muse stark dead, should raise her up, And teach her yet more charming words and skill, Than ever Coelia, Chloris, Astrophil, Or any of the threadbare names inspired Poor rhyming lovers, with a mistress fired. Come, then, and while the snow-icicle hangs At the stiff thatch, and winter's frosty fangs 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 times' ridiculous misery? An age that thus hath fooled 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 a 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. THE GOLDEN AGE.