Now you may think they all were happy,
As Drunkard o'er his Jug of Nappy,
That ev'ry Brow was smooth and clear,
But first I beg you'd lend an Ear:
The Queen of Love to grace the Feast,
Had sent a thousand Pipes at least
Of smiling  neat and fine,
To whet the Guests before they dine:
But when the Cups had walk'd about,
Some surly Bards began to pout,
And wrinkle up their tiny Faces,
And fret and fume about their Places:
Their giddy Brains began to glow,
Each thinking he was plac'd too low:
This vow'd to make all Creatures fear him,
And That cou'd bear no Creature near him.
One seem'd to talk with mighty Spirit,
Of baffl'd Worth and slighted Merit:
Another was in Passion hurl'd,
And curs'd the stupid senseless World,
Till Choler swell'd in ev'ry Vein,
And each no longer cou'd contain,
But fairly went, as I'm a Sinner,
To Loggerheads before their Dinner.