Yet thus armed at all points,
The devil himself can’t you capture.
Hip! hip! hip! fill aright,
Should he seek us to-night,
We’ll toss off the old rogue as a whetter;
When the hot cinder’s down,
Take my oath on’t, you’ll own,
That good luck could not furnish a better.
Hip! hip! hip! &c.
Dull sophists may say,