night!
Time, scandal, and cards, are for tea-drinking souls!
Let them play their rubbers, while we ply the bowls!
Oh who are so jocund, so happy as we?
Our skins full of wine, and our hearts full of glee!
Not buxom Dame Nature, a provident lass!
Abhors more a vacuum, than Bacchus's glass,
Where blue-devils drown, and where merry thoughts
swim—
As deep as a Quaker, as broad as his brim!