What concerns it my drinking, if Cassel be sold,
If the conqueror take it by storming, or gold?
Good Bordeaux alone is the place that I mind,
And when the fleet's coming, I pray for a wind.
6
By dull cutting of throats, and venturing his own,
Let him fight and be damned, and make matches and treat,
To afford the newsmongers and coffee-house chat;
He's but a brave wretch, while I am more free,
More safe, and a thousand times happier than he.
7
Or come faggot and stake, I care not a groat;
Never think that in Smithfield I porters will heat:
No, I swear, Mr. Fox, pray excuse me for that.
I'll drink in defiance of gibbet and halter,
This is the profession that never will alter.
AS I was walking in the Mall of late,
Alone, and musing on I know not what;
Comes a familiar fop, whom hardly I
Knew by his name, and rudely seizes me:
'Dear sir, I'm mighty glad to meet with you:
And pray, how have you done this age, or two?'
'Well, I thank God,' said I, 'as times are now:
I wish the same to you.' And so passed on,
Hoping with this, the coxcomb would be gone.
- ↑ This is one of the pieces selected for particular approbation by Pope, It was written in June, 1681.
