Thus late in the day, still I'm not without hope
There are some who, perhaps, will not wholly despise him:
Tis for such lads as they are, and each jolly lass,
Who can smile on them whether they're tipsy or sober,
That new saints should be made. Come, then, fill up each glass,
And "Hip, hip, hurrah! one cheer more for October!"
THE POISONERS OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.
BY GEORGE HOGARTH.