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The Works of Capt. Alex. Radcliffe

In one Volume ... The Third Edition Augmented [by Alexander Radcliffe]

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What are you mad?
 
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What are you mad?

I'll mount my thoughts to Giant height,
I'm Constellation in conceit.
I'll pluck down Sol, and mount his Sphere;
Then sullen Daphne shall appear,

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And seeing me grasp Phœbus Rays,
Shall cringe and crown me with her Bays.
I'll rape the Moon, it shall be said,
Cynthia hath chang'd the name of Maid;
Her twinkling Girles shall all be ta'en,
No Virgin left to bear her Train.
Thus conquering Sun, Moon, and Stars,
'Gainst Gods themselves I'll levy Wars.
Or if on Earth my Mind can rest,
I'll be a Monarch at the least.
Our dull Plebeians shall grow quicker,
Rincing their muddy Brains in Liquor.
The Miser then shall scatter Cash,
For Wine shall change his Balderdash;
And sing and drink, and drink and sing,
Till every Subject turns a King.
The conquer'd Gods shall make us Legs,
Intreating they may sip the dregs.
Thus will we tipple till the World
Into Oblivion is hurld:

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And when we feel old Age does come,
We'll post into Elysium;
And there our chiefest Joys shall be
To think of past Felicity.