‘Here, smoke, my boy, I know ’twill do you good;
‘And try this Country wine, ’twill cool your Blood.’
John smoked, & drank, & drank, & smoked again,
But nought upon his Stomach would remain.
His head turn’d round—he tried to gain the door,
But miss’d his mark, and sp—d upon the floor.
‘O Ja—s,’ says a lively Irish Blade,
‘I ne’er before saw such a grand Cascade.’
Holding his Nose, exclaim’d a chubbly Lad,
‘Give me some Rum, or I shall be as bad.’