Page:The Seasons - Thomson (1791).djvu/175

 Close in firm circle; and set, ardent, in For serious drinking. Nor evasion fly, Nor sober shift, is to the puking wretch Indulg'd apart; but earnest, brimming bowls Lave every soul, the table floating round, And pavement, faithless to the fuddled foot. Thus as they swim in mutual swill, the talk, Vociferous at once from twenty tongues, Reels fast from theme to theme; from horses, hounds, To church or mistress, politicks or ghost, In endless mazes, intricate, perplex'd. Mean-time, with sudden interruption, loud, Th' impatient catch bursts from the joyous heart: That moment touch'd is every kindred soul; And, opening in a full-mouth'd Cry of joy. The laugh, the slap, the jocund curse go round; While from their slumbers shook, the kennel'd hounds Mix in the music of the day again. As when the tempest, that has vex'd the deep The dark night long with fainter murmurs falls: So gradual sinks their mirth. Their feeble tongues, Unable to take up the cumbrous word, Lie quite dissolv'd. Before their maudlin eyes, Seen dim, and blue, the double tapers dance, Like the sun wading thro' the misty sky. Then, sliding soft, they drop. Confus'd above, Glasses and bottles, pipes and gazetteers, As if the table even itself was drunk, Lie a wet broken scene; and wide, below, Is heap'd the social daughter: where astride The lubber Power in filthy triumph sits, Slumbrous, inclining still from side to side, And steeps them drench'd in potent sleep till morn. Perhaps some doctor, of tremendous paunch, Awful and deep, a black abyss of drink, Out-