And mourn the manners of a feebler race?
130
At that long table, where the servants found
Mirth and abundance while the year went round;
Where a huge pollard on the winter-fire
At a huge distance made them all retire;
Where not a measure in the room was kept,
And but one rule—they tippled till they slept:
There would it see a pale old hag preside,
A thing made up of stinginess and pride;