Classic Poem

Whither , O Bacchus, in thy train,
Dost thou transport thy votary's brain
With sudden inspiration?
Where dost thou bid me quaff my wine,
And toast new measures to combine
The Great and Little Nation?

Say, in what tavern I shall raise
My nightly voice in Charley's praise,
And dream of future glories,
When F — x, with salutary sway,
(Terror the Order of the Day )
Shall reign o'er K — ng and Tories?

My mighty feelings must have way!
A toast I'll give — a thing I'll say,
As yet unsaid by any, —
" Our S OV'REIGN L ORD ! " — let those who doubt
My honest meaning, hear me out —
" H IS M AJESTY — THE M ANY ! "

Plain folks may be surprised, and stare,
As much surprised as B — b Ad — r
At Russia's wooden houses;
And Russian snows, that lie so thick:
And Russian boors that daily kick,
With barbarous foot, their spouses.

What joy, when drunk, at midnight's hour,
To stroll through Covent-Garden's bower,
Its various charms exploring;
And, midst its shrubs and vacant stalls,
And proud Piazza's crumbling walls,
Hear trulls and watchmen snoring!

Parent of wine, and gin, and beer,
The nymphs of Billingsgate you cheer;
Naiads robust and hearty;
As Brooks's chairmen fit to wield
Their stout oak bludgeons in the field,
To aid our virtuous party.

Mortals! no common voice you hear!
Militia Colonel, Premier Peer,
Lieutenant of a County!
I speak high things! yet, god of wine,
For thee, I fear not to resign
These Gifts of Royal Bounty.