Laugh at poor sots with insolent pretence,
Yet cry when tortur'd, where is Providence?
If thou alone art, head and heel, not clear,
Alone made steady here, untumour'd there;
Snatch from the Board the bottle and the bowl,
Curse the keen pain, and be a mad proud Fool.
FOOTNOTES:
"The mighty Mother, and her Son, who brings
The Smithfield Muses to the ear of Kings,