The stalest bilgewater is fragrant as rose!
VI.
To dine in the cuddy tames pleasures of sense,
Proves life but a lottery; its prizes pretence,
Its blanks dark realities, there ’twill be seen
’Twixt the cup and the lip what sad slips intervene.
VII.
You drink to a fair one: how blest her escape,
Whose bosom’s not red with the juice of the grape;
Each flagon may Tantalus serve for a stoup,