the poets in the world, of all ages, got drunk, which
puts them under the protection of Bacchus. This made them heretofore in
Rome celebrate once a year, in the month of March, a festival in honour
to this God with solemn sacrifices. What Ovid[2] has said on this point
puts the matter out of all doubt:--

"Illa dies haec est, qua te celebrare poetae
Si modo non fallunt tempora, Bacche, solent,
Festaque odoratis innectunt tempora sertis
Et dicunt laudes ad tua vina tuas.
Inter quos memini, dum me mea fata sinebant,
Non invisa tibi pars ego saepe fui."

This is the day, unless the times are chang'd,
That poets us'd to sing in merry lays,
And with sweet garlands crown'd, promiscuous rang'd,
To thy rich wines, great Bacchus, chaunt thy praise.
With these gay chorists, when my fates were kind,
Free, unreserv'd, to thee, immortal power!
(The pleasing object fresh salutes my mind)
Without disguise a part I often bore.

[Footnote 1: Sermo pedestris.]

[Footnote 2: Trist. v. 3.]

CHAP. XV.

OF FREE MASONS, AND OTHER LEARNED MEN, THAT USED TO GET DRUNK.

If what brother Eugenius Philalethes, author of Long Livers, a book
dedicated to the Free Masons, says in his Preface[1] to that treatise,
be true, those mystical gentlemen very well deserve a place amongst the
learned. But, without entering into their peculiar jargon, or whether a
man can be sacrilegiously perjured for revealing secrets when he has
none, I do assure my readers, they are very great friends to the
vintners. An eye-witness of this was I myself, at their late general
meeting at Stationers' Hall, who having learned some of their catechism,
passed my examination, paid my five shillings, and took my place
accordingly.

We had a good dinner, and, to their eternal honour, the brotherhood laid
about them very valiantly. They saw then their high dignity; they saw
what they were, acted accordingly, and shewed themselves (what they
were) men[2]. The Westphalia hams and chickens, with good plum pudding,
not forgetting the delicious salmon, were plentifully sacrificed, with
copious libations of wine for the consolation of the brotherhood. But
whether, after a very disedifying manner their demolishing huge walls of
venison pasty, be building up a spiritual house, I leave to brother
Eugenius Philalethes to determine. However, to do them justice, I must
own, there was no mention made of polit