Classic Poem

I.

Let Fools who thirst only for Honour and Fame,
In rambling about to seek after a Name,
Drudge, labour, and starve, to be kill'd, or to kill,
But resolute Drunkards get Fame, sitting still.

II.

We with Perukes thrown off, like bald Caesars look fierce,
Arm'd, like Bacchus , with Bumpers new-drawn from the Terse,
Which, like Veteran Troops, we discharge in a Volley,
And, when we're worst routed, most venture to rally.

III.

Then a pox on the Pimp, who's for running away,
Here's a Health to the Man, who quite gone, yet will stay,
Who, tho' never so cut, still calls out for his Bump-
er, and like an old Soldier will fight on his Stump.