O frowsy tavern, frowsy fellowship therein,
Ninth post in order next beyond the twins cap-crown'd,
Shall manly service none but you alone employ,
Shall you alone whatever in the world smiles fair,
Possess it, every other hold to lack esteem?
Or if in idiot impotence arow you sit,
One hundred, yes two hundred, am not I, think you,
A man to bring mine action on your whole row there?
So think not, he that likes not; answer how you may,
With scorpion I, with emblem all your haunt will scrawl.
For she the bright one, lately fled beyond these arms,
The maid belov'd as maiden is belov'd no more,
Whom I to win, stood often in the breach, fought long,
Has sat amongst you. Her the grand, the great, all, all
Do dearly love her; yea, beshrew the damned wrong,
Each slight seducer, every lounger highway-born,
You chiefly, peerless paragon of the tribe long-lock'd,
Rude Celtiberia's child, the bushy rabbit-den,
Egnatius, so modish in the big bush-beard,
And teeth a native lotion hardly scours quite pure.