The place of port and repartee supply;
And many a smutty tale around they tell
That teach the social hour with speed to fly.
For who, within the ranks by reason led,
The joys of Bacchus to his soul denies,
Treads the gay precincts of a sutler’s shed,
Nor cast upon the door his longing eyes?
On some base hearts gold has a sov’reign sway,
Some pious minds delight in sighs and tears,
Fame can the poet’s midnight toil repay,