My Patron will sate his pride from plate.
And his thirst from Bordeaux vine—
His nose was red in Twenty-eight,—
'Twill be redder in Twenty-nine!
And oh! I shall find, how, day by day.
All thoughts and things look older—
How the laugh of Pleasure grows less gay,
And the heart of Friendship colder;
But still I shall be what I have been,
Sworn foe to Lady Reason,