Page:Poetical Works of John Oldham.djvu/143



PLAGUE of this fooling and plotting of late, What a pother and stir has it kept in the State; Let the rabble run mad with suspicions and fears, Let them scuffle and jar, till they go by the ears;
 * Their grievances never shall trouble my pate,
 * So I can enjoy my dear bottle at quiet.

What coxcombs were those who would barter their ease And their necks for a toy, a thin wafer and mass; At old Tyburn thay never had needed to swing, Had they been but true subjects to drink and their king;
 * A friend and a bottle is all my design;
 * He has no room for treason, that's top-full of wine.

I mind not the members and makers of laws, Let them sit or prorogue, as his majesty please; Let them damn us to woollen, I'll never repine At my lodging when dead, so alive I have wine;
 * Yet oft in my drink I can hardly forbear
 * To curse them for making my claret so dear.

I mind not grave asses who idly debate About right and succession, the trifles of state; We've a good king already; and he deserves laughter That will trouble his head with who shall come after;
 * Come, here's to his health, and I wish he may be
 * As free from all care and all trouble as we.

What care I how leagues with the Hollander go? Or intrigues betwixt Sidney and Monsieur D'Avaux?