And the hoarse Voice, which rough and broken rings.
These are his triumphs, and o'er these he reigns,
The blinking Deity of reeling brains.
See Inebriety! her wand she waves,
And lo! her pale, and lo! her purple slaves;
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Sots in embroidery, and sots in crape,
Of every order, station, rank, and shape;
The King, who nods upon his rattle-throne;
The staggering Peer, to midnight revel prone;