SONG XXV. TIME's DEFEAT

One evening, Good Humour, took Wit as his guest, By Friendship invited to Gratitude's feast; Their liquor was Claret, and Love was their host, Laugh, song, and droll Sentiment, garnish'd each toaft.

While Freedom and Fancy enlarg'd the design, And dainties were furnish'd by Love, Wit, and Wine, Alarm'd, they all heard, at the door a loud knock, A watchman hoarse bawling, 'Twas past Twelve o'Clock.

They nimbly ran down, the disturbing dog found, And up stairs they brought, the Impertinent, bound; When dragg'd to the light, how much were they pleas'd To see 'twas the Grey-glutton Time they had seiz'd.

His Glass as his Lanthorn, his Scythe as his Pole, And his single Lock dangled adown his smooth Skull; My friends, quoth he, panting, I thought fit to knock, And bid ye be gone, for 'tis past Twelve o'Clock.

Says the Venom'd-Tooth'd-Savage, on this advice fix, Tho' Nature strikes twelve, Folly still points to six; He longer had preach'd, but no longer they'd bear it, So hurry'd him into a Hogshead of Claret.

Wit observed it was right, while we're yet in our prime, There is nothing like Claret for killing of Time; Love, laughing reply'd, I am pleas'd from my heart, He can't come and put us in mind we must part.

This intruder, rude Time, tho' a tyrant long known, By Love, Wit and Wine can be only o'erthrown; If hereafter he's wanted on any design, He'll always be sound in a Hogshead of Wine.

Since Time is confin'd to our Wine, let us think By this rule we are sure of our Time when we drink; Henceforth, let our glasses with bumpers be prim'd, We're certain our drinking must now be well tim'd.