Epistle XLVI. To G. B. Esquire

I Promis'd to come to you Sir, 'tis true,
And I intended what I promis'd you.
But Heaven (that all things orders) thought not fit
We two should meet, and therefore hinder'd it:

Not that our meeting had offensive been
To God or Man, for we had sail'd between
The dangerous rocks of company, which wits
And no wits dash against, when in their fits,
They scoffe at sacred matters, and blaspheme,
Or make States-men or businesses their theame.
But such a World of Heavenly drink came down,
The flouds did rise and all the Countrey drown;
Men that had souls unswimable like mine,
Float as drown'd Flies do in a glass of Wine.
Horses and boots were useless, and you know,
I have no hanging look; and being so
Fat, have the art of sinking, I was ne'r
Bred 'mong the fish, nor e'r at Westminster,
Saw any drown'd, though you and I both know,
Some have been us'd as badly there, and though
I use the feather 'tis the tother end,
Not that which me from drowning can defend;
This work's for Saylors, not a land Attourney,
For 'tis become a voyage, not a journey.
And he that goes to Ex'ter now from hence,
From that exploit, may very well commence
A Navigator; which t' attempt I fear,
And thought it safer to stay drinking here:
And send you this from him that's far more willing
To write ten verses, then to pay one shilling.