While steams around the fragrant Indian bowl
Oft damns the vulgar sons of humbler ALE:
In vain—the proctor’s voice arrests their joys;
Just fate of wanton pride and loose excess!
Nor less by day delightful is thy draught,
All-powerful ALE! whose sorrow-soothing sweet
Oft I repeat in vacant afternoon,
When tatter’d stockings crave my mending hand
Not unexperienc’d; while the tedious toil
Slides unregarded. Let the tender swain