"But when the long hours of Public are past And we meet with Champaign and a Chicken at last, May every fond Pleasure that hour endear, Be banish’d afar both Discretion and Fear, Forgetting or scorning the Airs of the Croud He may cease to be formal, and I to be proud, Till lost in the Joy, we confess that we live And he may be rude, and yet I may forgive."