So, when my Days of Impotence approach,
And I'm by Pox and Wine's unlucky chance
Driv'n from the pleasing Billows of debauch
On the dull Shore of lazy Temperance; My Pains at least some Respite shall afford
While I behold the Battles you maintain
When Fleets of Glasses sail about the Board,
From whose Broad-sides Volleys of Wit shall rain.

The Maim'd Debauchee, ll. 13–20.