Why did the gods such various blessings pour
On helpless mortals, from their grateful hands
So soon the short-liv'd bounty to recal?
Thus while, improvident of future ill,
I quaff the luscious tankard unrestrain'd,
And thoughtless riot in ambrosial bliss,
Sudden (dire fate of all things excellent!)
Th' unpitying bursar's cross affixing hand
Blast all my joys, and stops my glad career.
Nor now the friendly pot-house longer yields
A sure retreat when ev'ning shades the skies,
Nor Sheppard, rushless widow, now vouchsafes
The wonted trust, and Winter ticks no more.
Thus Adam exil'd from the blissful scenes
Of Eden griev'd, no more in hallow'd bow'r
On nect'rine fruits to feast, fresh shade or vale
No more to visit, or vine-mantled grot;
But all forlorn the naked wilderness,
And unrejoicing solitudes to trace.
Thus too the matchless bard, whose lay resounds
The Splendid Shilling's praise, in nightly gloom
Of lonesome garret pin'd for cheerful Ale:
Whose steps in verse Miltonic I pursue,
Mean follower! like him with honest love
Of Ale divine inspir'd, and love of song.
But long may bounteous Heav'n with watchful care
Avert his hapless fate! enough for me,
That burning with congenial flame I dar'd
His guiding steps at distance to pursue,
And sing his fav'rite theme in kindred strains.