Song CXXIV. the Point

Since at last I am FREE, Contented I'll be, O'er briars barefooted to go; Or lost in the rain, Upon Sal'sbury Plain, Or left without cloaths in the snow.

Or if I shou'd perch, On top of Paul's Church, The hottest day, just about noon, Astride the cross sat, Without hood, or hat, I'd whistle off pain with a Tune,

For now I am FREE, No low spirits for me, I laugh at all Crosses I find; I think as I please, And reflect at my ease, For Liberty lies in the mind.

To my Fancy I live, And what Fancy can give, I enjoy, though it is but a dream; Observe the world through, Do others pursue Ought else than a fanciful scheme?

Some fancy the Court, Some fancy Field-sport, The Chace of a Beauty some chuse; The Topers with Wine, The Misers with Coin, And Poets are pleas'd with their Muse.

La Mancha's mad Knight, With Wind-mills wou'd fight, Like him our attempts are a jest; With envy insane, And with projects so vain, Each sneers at the schemes of the rest.

This Extravagancy On Folly or Fancy, Appears to be rather too long; With something that's shrewd, I wish to conclude, And make this an Epigram Song.

In a Point it must end, On a Point I depend, And like a staunch Pointer I'll stand; I appoint you to sing, I appoint you to ring, And a Scots Pint of Claret command.