Giving the drunkard a chance, at most,
Of running his cranium ’gainst a post.
Upon the Park he flies to attend,
And gives the boughs a bit of a bend—
The brave old oaks in the air he heaves,
Without so much as axing their leaves.
Down he rushed to the river side,
Sunk the loose barges, and blowed up the tide;
Led the wherries a wherry rum chase,
Gave Father Thames some blows in the face.