5 Fat Comus toss'd his brimmers o'er, And always got the most; Jocus took care to fill him more, Whene'er he miss'd the toast.
6 They call'd, and drank at every touch; He fill'd, and drank again; And if the gods can take too much, 'Tis said they did so then.
7 Gay Bacchus little Cupid stung, By reckoning his deceits; And Cupid mock'd his stammering tongue, With all his staggering gaits:
8 And Jocus droll'd on Comus' ways, And tales without a jest; While Comus call'd his witty plays But waggeries at best.
9 Such talk soon set 'em all at odds; And, had I Homer's pen, I'd sing ye, how they drank like gods, And how they fought like men.
10 To part the fray, the Graces fly, Who make 'em soon agree; Nay, had the Furies selves been nigh, They still were three to three.
11 Bacchus appeased, raised Cupid up, And gave him back his bow; But kept some darts to stir the cup Where sack and sugar flow.
12 Jocus took Comus' rosy crown, And gaily wore the prize, And thrice, in mirth, he push'd him down, As thrice he strove to rise.
13 Then Cupid sought the myrtle grove, Where Venus did recline; And Venus close embracing Love, They join'd to rail at wine.
14 And Comus loudly cursing wit, Roll'd off to some retreat, Where boon companions gravely sit In fat unwieldy state.
15 Bacchus and Jocus, still behind, For one fresh glass prepare; They kiss, and are exceeding kind, And vow to be sincere.
16 But part in time, whoever hear This our instructive song; For though such friendships may be dear, They can't continue long.
[Footnote 1: 'Estcourt:' Dick, a comedian and keeper of the Bumper Tavern--a companion of Addison, Steele, and the rest.]
1 In Britain's isle and Arthur's days, When midnight Faeries danced the maze, Lived Edwin of the green; Edwin, I wis, a gentle youth, Endow'd with courage, sense, and truth, Though badly shaped he been.
2 His mountain back mote well be said To measure heighth against his head, And lift itself above: Yet spite of all that Nature did To make his uncouth form forbid, This creature dared to love.
3 He felt the charms of Edith's eyes, Nor wanted hope to gain the prize, Could ladies look within; But one Sir Topaz dress'd with art, And, if a shape could win a heart, He had a shape to win.