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"Whoſe ſlender meal is ſhorter than their grace;
"Whoſe moping ſons no jovial orgies keep;
"Where evening brings no ſummons but to ſleep;
"No Carnival is even Chriſtmas here,
"And one long Lent involves the meagre year.
"Bear me, ye pow'rs! to ſome more genial ſcene,
"Where on ſoft cuſhions lolls the gouty Dean,
"Or roſy Prebend, with cherubic face,
"With double chin, and paunch of portly grace,
"Who lull'd in downy ſlumbers ſhall agree
"To own no inſpiration but from me.
"Or to ſome ſpacious manſion, Gothic, old,
"Where Comus' ſprightly train their vigils hold;
"There oft exhauſted, and repleniſh'd oft,
"Oh! let me ſtill ſupply th' eternal draught;
"Till care within the deep abyſs be drown'd,
"And thought grows giddy at the vaſt profound."

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