Here is no clock, nor will they turn the glass.
And see how swift th'important moments pass;
Here are no books, but ballads on the wall
Are some abusive, and indecent all;
Pistols are here, unpair'd; with nets and hooks,
Of every kind, for rivers, ponds, and brooks;
An ample flask, that nightly rovers fill
With recent poison from the Dutchman's still;
}
240