Spoken of Several Philosophers

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Spoken of Several Philosophers

I pray you, all ye men who put your trust

In moulds and systems and well-tackled gear,

Holding that Nature lives from year to year

In one continual round because she must⁠—

Set me not down, I pray you, in the dust

Of all these centuries, like a pot of beer⁠—

A pewter-pot disconsolately clear,

Which holds a potful, as is right and just!

I will grow clamorous⁠—by the rood, I will,

If thus ye use me like a pewter pot!

Good friend, thou art a toper and a sot⁠—

will not be the lead to hold thy swill,

Nor any lead: I will arise and spill

Thy silly beverage⁠—spill it piping hot!