’TIS like a private Bar where for a Day
Innumerable Rickies come your way,
Happy—but on the morrow happier far
Had there been less to drink and more to pay.
XXXVII
AND fear not lest the Fair Green after your
Ill-luck and mine should yield Bad Lies no more;
One or two Others may fare ill as you:
Nay, even three, or maybe—maybe four.
