So soon the short-liv’d bounty to recall?
Thus, while improvident of future ill,
I quaff the luscious tankard uncontroul’d,
And thoughtless riot in unlicens’d bliss;
Sudden (dire fate of all things excellent!)
The unpitying bursar’s cross-affixing hand
Blasts all my joys, and stops my glad career.
Nor now the friendly pot-house longer yields
A sure retreat when night o’ershades the skies;
Nor Sheppard, barb’rous matron, longer gives