"There is no truth in
villanous man!" said our monitor. "I remember when a gentleman might
have reeled round the environs of Covent Garden, in and out of every
establishment, from the Bedford to Mother Butlers, without having his
pleasures broken in upon by the irruptions of Bow-street mohawks, or his
person endangered by any association he chose to mix with; but we are
returning to the times of the _Roundheads_ and the _Puritans; cant,_
vile hypocritical _cant_, has bitten the ear of authority, and the great
officers of the state are infected with the Jesuitical mania.
'Man is a ship that sails with adverse winds,
And has no haven till he land at death.
Then, when he thinks his hands fast grasp the bank,
Conies a rude billow betwixt him and safety,
And beats him back into the deep again.'"
"I subscribe to none of their fooleries," said I; "for I am of the true
orthodox--love my king, my girl, my friend, and my bottle: a truce with
all their raven croakings; they would overload mortality, and press our
shoulders with too great a weight of dismal miseries. But come, my boys,
we who have free souls, let us to the banquet, while yet Sol's fiery
charioteer lies sleeping at his eastern palace in the lap of Thetis--let
us chant carols of mirth to old Jove or bully Mars; and, like chaste
votaries, perform our orgies at the shrine of Venus, ere yet Aurora
tears aside the curtain that conceals our revels.
Pages:
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458