To take a glass or two with youngster Smooth,
Then back again as briskly to the shore,
As wise and honest as you were before.
Here (like the great) on slip’ry place you stand,
They can nor fate, nor you your feet, command.
My muse to scribble further has no maw,
But for your good doe wish a speedy thaw,
And let it ne’r be said ’twixt you and I,
The winter’s cold, but move your charity.
Then let the poor meanwhile your bounty find,