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361

Drink.

When Panurge and his fellows, as Rab'lais will tell us,
Set out on a sail to the ends of the earth,
And jollily cruising, carousing, and boozing,
To the oracle came in a full tide of mirth,
Pray what was its answer? come tell if you can, sir;
'Twas an answer most splendid and sage, as I think;
For sans any delaying, it summ'd up by saying,
The whole duty of man is one syllable—“Drink.”
O bottle mirific! advice beatific!
A response more celestial sure never was known;
I speak for myself, I prefer it to Delphi,
Though Apollo himself on that rock fixed his throne;
The foplings of fashion may still talk their trash on,
And declare that the custom of toping should sink;
A fig for such asses, I stick to my glasses,
And swear that no fashion shall stint me in drink.
And now in full measure I toast you with pleasure,
The warrior—
—the poet—
—the statesman—
—and sage;
Whose benign constellation illumines the nation,
And sheds lively lustre all over the age;

362

Long, long may its brightness, in glory and lightness,
Shine clear as the day-star on morning's sweet brink!
May their sway ne'er diminish! and therefore I finish,
By proposing the health of the four whom I drink.