But the lewd spendthrift, falsely deem'd polite, While steams around the fragrant Indian bowl, Oft damns the vulgar sons of humbler ALE: In vain----the Proctor's voice arrests their joys; Just fate of wanton pride and loose excess! Nor less by day delightful is thy draught, All-pow'rful ALE! whose sorrow-soothing sweets Oft I repeat in vacant afternoon, When tatter'd stockings ask my mending hand Not unexperienc'd; while the tedious toil Slides unregarded. Let the tender swain Each morn regale on nerve-relaxing tea, Companion meet of languor-loving nymph: Be mine each morn with eager appetite And hunger undissembled, to repair To friendly buttery; there on smoaking crust And foaming ALE to banquet unrestrain'd, Material breakfast! Thus in ancient days Our ancestors robust with liberal cups Usher'd the morn, unlike the squeamish sons Of modern times: Nor ever had the might Of Britons brave decay'd, had thus they fed With British ALE improving British worth. With ALE irriguous, undismay'd I hear The frequent dun ascend my lofty dome Importunate: whether the plaintive voice Of laundress shrill awake my startled ear; Or barber spruce with supple look intrude; Or taylor with obsequious bow advance; Or groom invade me with defying front And stern demeanour, whose emaciate steeds (Whene'er or Phoebus shone with kindlier beams, Or luckier chance the borrow'd boots supply'd) Had panted oft beneath my goring steal. In vain they plead or threat: All-powerful ALE Excuses new supplies, and each descends With joyless pace, and debt-despairing looks: E'en SPACEY with indignant brow retires, Fiercest of duns! and conquer'd quits the field. Why did the gods such various blessings pour On hapless mortals, from their grateful hands So soon the short-liv'd bounty to recall?---- Thus, while improvident of future ill, I quaff the luscious tankard unrestrain'd, And thoughtless riot in unlicens'd bliss; Sudden (dire fate of all things excellent!) Th' unpitying Bursar's cross-affixing hand Blasts all my joys, and stops my glad career. Nor now the friendly pot-house longer yields A sure retreat, when night o'ershades the skies; Nor SHEPPARD barbarous matron, longer gives The wonted trust, and WINTER ticks no more. Thus ADAM, exil'd from the beauteous scenes Of Eden griev'd, no more in fragrant bow'r On fruits divine to feast, fresh shade or vale, No more to visit, or vine-mantled grot; But, all forlorn, the dreary wilderness, And unrejoicing solitudes to trace: Thus too the matchless bard, whole lay resounds The SPLENDID SHILLING'S praise, in nightly gloom Of lonesome garret pin'd for chearful ALE; Whose steps in verse Miltonic I pursue, Mean follower, like him with honest love