Stop! my good friend, you cry; not quite so fast!
This man went fair and softly to his ruin;
What talk you of two years? As many days,
Two little days, were long enough to finish
Young Epicharides; he had some soul,
And drove a merry pace to his undoing—
Marry! if a kind surfeit would surprise us,
Ere we sit down to earn it, such prevention
Would come most opportune to save the trouble
Of a sick stomach and an aching head:
But whilst the punishment is out of sight,
And the full chalice at our lips, we drink,
Drink all to-day, to-morrow fast and mourn,
Sick, and all o'er oppress'd with nauseous fumes;
Such is the drunkard's curse, and Hell itself
Cannot devise a greater. Oh that nature
Might quit us of this overbearing burthen,
This tyrant-god, the belly! take that from us,
With all its bestial appetites, and man,
Exonerated man, shall be all soul.—Cumberland.
Anaxilas. (Book xiii. § 6, p. 893.)
Whoever has been weak enough to dote,
And live in precious bondage at the feet
Of an imperious mistress, may relate
Some part of their iniquity at least.
In fact, what monster is there in the world
That bears the least comparison with them!
What frightful dragon, or chimera dire,
What Scylla, what Charybdis, can exceed them?
Nor sphinx, nor hydra, nay, no winged harpy,
Nor hungry lioness, nor poisonous adder,
In noxious qualities, is half so bad.
They are a race accursed, and stand alone
Preeminent in wickedness. For instance,
Plangon, a foul chimera; spreading flames,
And dealing out destruction far and near,
And no Bellerophon to crush the monster.
