More draughts, more syrup, to the journey’s end:
“I feel it not;” - “Then take it every hour:”
“It makes me worse;” - “Why then it shows its power;”
“I fear to die;” - “Let not your spirits sink,
You’re always safe, while you believe and drink.”
How strange to add, in this nefarious trade,
That men of parts are dupes by dunces made:
That creatures, nature meant should clean our streets,
Have purchased lands and mansions, parks and seats:
Wretches with conscience so obtuse, they leave