'Till by wise Content, his trouble does destroy.
When a Monarch reels,
He his Thoughts conceals,
Whether Whig or Tory, never does express;
With a sober Dose
Of Coffee funks his Nose,
And reading all the News does leave the World to guess:
But when his Noddle's full,
O then he hugs his Soul,
And homeward flush'd with Joy does trudge apace,