Drink upsees out,[335] and a fig for the vicar!
Our vicar he calls it damnation to sip
The ripe ruddy dew of a woman’s dear lip,
Says, that Beelzebub[336] lurks in her kerchief so sly,
And Apollyon[337] shoots darts from her merry black eye;
Yet whoop, Jack! kiss Gillian the quicker,
Till she bloom like a rose, and a fig for the vicar!
Our vicar thus preaches—and why should he not?
For the dues of his cure are the placket and pot;[338]