The Point

SINCE at last I am FREE,
Contented I'll be,
O'er briars barefooted to go;
Or lost in the rain,
Upon Sal'sbury Plain,
Or left without cloaths in the snow.

Or if I shou'd perch
On top of Paul's Church,
The hottest day, just about noon,
Astride the cross sat,
Without hood, or hat,
I'd whistle off pain with a Tune.

For now I am FREE,
No low spirits for me,
I laugh at all Crosses I find;
I think as I please,
And reflect at my ease,
For Liberty idles in the mind.

To my Fancy I live,
And what Fancy can give,
I enjoy, tho' it is but a dream;
Observe the world through,
Do others pursue
Ought else than a fanciful scheme?

Some fancy the Court,
Some fancy Field-sport,
The Chace of a Beauty some chuse;
The Topers with Wine,
The Misers with Coin,
And Poets are pleas'd with their Muse.

La Mancha's mad Knight,
With Wind-mills wou'd sight,
Like him our attempts are a jest;
With envy insane,
And with projects so vain,
Each sneers at the schemes of the rest.

This Extravagancy
On Folly or Fancy,
Appears to be rather too long;
With something that's shrewd,
I wish to conclude,
And make this an Epigram Song.

In a Point it must end,
On a Point I depend,
And like a staunch Pointer I'll stand;
I appoint you to sing,
I appoint you to ring,
And a Scotch Pint of Claret command.