Impromptu

Be consol’d my dear friend, though your fate is so bare,
You make up in brains what is wanting in hair,
Which confirms what is said, by the learned no doubt,
That a rich mine of gold has no without;
We shall therefore infer your bald nob was design’d
As a gnomon, to point out the wealths in your mind.

When P——n the learned escap’d from the clay,
His soul stagger’d up to the bright realms of day
Where accosting fair Hebe, he swore like a Lector
He’d ne’er stir day nor night ’till he’d drunk all her nectar.
She replied with a look of ineffable grace,
While the roses fresh bloom’d with the smile on her face
Take the licence my friend — keep the secret between us,
Now reel down & for ever get drunk with Silenus.