│ │ │We're "Temp'rance" folks, so let the theme│ │ │ │ │ be grave. │ │ │13│and │Let's sing yon palace to the God of Gin: │ │ │ │ │Who pipes the best, a pot of malt shall │the sick man│ │ │ │ win. │ │ │14│ditches │ │ │ │ │ │ COBBLERIUS. │throweth off│ │15│the │ │ │ │ │ │I take your challenge—to your plan agree; │ his │ │16│perils │Yon Costermonger shall our umpire be. │ │ │ │ │ │ warm │ │17│of │ COSTERMONGERIUS. │ │ │ │ │ │ clothing, │ │18│the │I'm bottle-holder for a glass of max; │ │ │ │ │So clear your pipes, my jolly cocks o' │ │ │ │ │ vax. │ │ │19│field │ │ ☌ ♒ ☿ ♊ ♎ │ │ │ │ CORDWAINERIUS. │ │ │20│to │ │ ⚹ ♏ ♀ │ │ │ │"Here, _sprightly_ folks, by _spirits_ │ │ │ │ │ turn'd to _sprites_, │ │ │21│dare │Whose _rosy_ cheeks are chang'd to _lily │ ☿ ♄ │ │ │ │ whites_, │ │ │ │ │Caught in the _snares_ of _Gin_, rue not │ │ │ │ │ their ruin, │ │ │22│and │But do their best, to do their own │ │ │ │ │ undoing!" │ │ │ │ │ │ when he │ │23│hunt │ COBBLERIUS. │ │ │ │ │ │ │ │24│that │"_Rum_ customers, who're far more sad than│should wrap │ │ │ │ funny, │ │ │ │ │Here get no trust when they have spent │ │ │ │ │ their money: │ │ │25│furious │No pay no potion;—by this rule they stick;│ │ │ │ │The lighted _dial_, only, goes _on tick_."│ himself up │ │26│beast │ │ │ │ │ │ CORDWAINERIUS. │ │ │27│the │ │ ☊ ♓ ☋ ♌ │ │ │ │"Here, Mothers, by some devilish fiend │ │ │ │ │ possest, │ │