"A happy end thus made of all your sport, Lead her where every Lover shou’d resort, Where Madam Sack’s enthron’d, the tempting’st Lass That e’er was seated in a Venice Glass. Last, that this sense of Pleasure may remain, Cast away Thought and fall to Drink again. Drink off the Glasses, swallow every Bowl, And pity him that sighs away his Soul For that poor trifle Woman, who is mine With one small Gallon of Immortal Wine. To get a Mistress Drinking is the knack; Love’s grand existence is Almighty Sack."