Might was right, and all the terrors, which had held the world in awe,
Were despised, and prigging prospered, spite of Laurie, [123] spite of law.
In such scenes as these I triumphed, ere my passion’s edge was rusted,
And my cousin’s cold refusal left me very much disgusted!
Since, my heart is sere and withered, and I do not care a curse,
Whether worse shall be the better, or the better be the worse.
Hark! my merry comrades call me, bawling for another jorum;
They would mock me in derision, should I thus appear before ’em.
Womankind no more shall vex me, such at least as go arrayed
In the most expensive satins and the newest silk brocade.
I’ll to Afric, lion-haunted, where the giant forest yields
Rarer robes and finer tissue than are sold at Spital fields.
Or to burst all chains of habit, flinging habit’s self aside,
I shall walk the tangled jungle in mankind’s primeval pride;
Feeding on the luscious berries and the rich cassava root,
Lots of dates and lots of guavas, clusters of forbidden fruit.
Never comes the trader thither, never o’er the purple main
Sounds the oath of British commerce, or the accent of Cockaigne.
There, methinks, would be enjoyment, where no envious rule prevents;
Sink the steamboats! cuss the railways! rot, O rot the Three per Cents!