, so famous, tory red,
Not hemm'd, but bound about with good galloon
Of deepest mazarine (delightful hue!)
Farewell (I sighing speak) those non-such shoes
Of obfusc colour (heel of form cylindrous)
Worn only upon days non-ferial.
In love's true knot of verdant ferrit tied.

But Oh! farewell, a long and last farewell,
To large Ampull with vital water fraught,
Wherein the effluvia soft and delicate
Of dulcet aniseseed (not coriander)
In its capacious rim of form anguillar
Whirl in sweet vortex. Hence it was observ'd,
The subtile matter, when in throat retir'd,
Kept still its roulant quality, and oft
Would mount in circling spires to pericranium
Of she-philosopher, when in elbow chair,
Deep and profound, would the grave matron reve,
And learnedly pronounce (like great RENATUS[2])
With equal verity the world turns round.

Secondly and foremost, you should have added at the end of the
philosophers chapter, the song of the Tippling Philosophers, which I
send you here enclosed.

The bookseller to whom I mentioned this, fancied truly, that you might
think it too mean and trifling to insert. But without troubling myself
to know, whether this be your sentiment, or whether he spoke this of his
own head, I shall trouble myself to tell you, as this song is taken from
an excellent French one, which you may find in a very famous book[3],
and which (to follow your method) you may know by the note at the
bottom. The song (whether you have ever seen it, or not, I neither know,
nor do I care) is as follows, and will go with the same tune as the
English (if I am not mistaken).

[Footnote 1: You must remember my Mrs.'s name was Margaret.]

[Footnote 2: Des Cartes's christian name.]

[Footnote 3: Fureteriana, p. 205.]

CHANSON A BOIRE.

I.

Je cherche en vin la verite,
Si le vin n'aide a ma foiblesse,
Toute la docte antiquite
Dans le vin puisa la sagesse.
Oui c'est par le bon vin que le bon sens eclate
J'en atteste Hypocrate,
Qui dit qu'il fait a chaque mois
Du moins s'enivrer une fois.

II.

Socrate cet homme discret
Que toute la terre revere,
Alloit manger au cabaret
Quand sa femme etoit en colere.
Pouvons-nous mieux faire que d'imiter Socrate
Et de suivre Hypocrate,
Qui dit, &c.

III.

Platon est nomme le divin
Parce qu'il etoit magnifique,
Et qu'il regala de son vin
La cabale philosophique