Page:Poetical Works of John Oldham.djvu/144

134 What concerns it my drinking, if Cassel be sold, If the conqueror take it by storming, or gold?
 * Good Bordeaux alone is the place that I mind,
 * And when the fleet's coming, I pray for a wind.

The bully of France, that aspires to renown By dull cutting of throats, and venturing his own, Let him fight and be damned, and make matches and treat, To afford the newsmongers and coffee-house chat;
 * He's but a brave wretch, while I am more free,
 * More safe, and a thousand times happier than he.

Come he, or the pope, or the devil to boot, Or come faggot and stake, I care not a groat; Never think that in Smithfield I porters will heat: No, I swear, Mr. Fox, pray excuse me for that.
 * I'll drink in defiance of gibbet and halter,
 * This is the profession that never will alter.

S I was walking in the Mall of late, Alone, and musing on I know not what; Comes a familiar fop, whom hardly I Knew by his name, and rudely seizes me: 'Dear sir, I'm mighty glad to meet with you: And pray, how have you done this age, or two?' 'Well, I thank God,' said I, 'as times are now: I wish the same to you.' And so passed on, Hoping with this, the coxcomb would be gone.