Of deep Smiglecius much I meditate,
While ALE inspires, and lends its kindred aid
The thought-perplexing labour to pursue
Sweet helicon of logic! but if friends
Congenial call me from the toilsome page,
To pot-house I repair, the sacred haunt,
Where ALE thy votaries in full resort
Hold rites nocturnal. In capacious chair
Of monumental oak and antique mould,
That long has stood the rage of conqu’ring years