Now stop your noses, Readers, all and some,
For here's a tun of Midnight work to come,
Og* from a Treason Tavern rowling home.
Round as a Globe and Liquored ev'ry chink,
Goodly and Great he Sayls behind his Link,
With all this Bulk there's nothing lost in Og,
For ev'ry inch that is not Fool is Rogue:
A Monstrous mass of foul corrupted matter,
As all the Devils had spew'd to make the batter,
When wine has given him courage to Blaspheme,
He curses God, but God before curst him;
And if man cou'd have reason, none has more,
That made his Paunch so rich, and him so poor.
-- Dryden
==================
* Og, as everyone knew, meant Thomas Shadwell, one of the most
prominent poets of the time.
--
===================================
Jon Corelis www.geocities.com/joncpoetics/
===================================
|