claim Olympus for such a wine-drabbled divinity as that.

About the King's follower, the Viscount Castlewood--orphan of his son,
ruined by his fidelity, bearing many wounds and marks of bravery,
old and in exile--his kinsmen I suppose should be silent; nor if this
patriarch fell down in his cups, call fie upon him, and fetch passers-by
to laugh at his red face and white hairs. What! does a stream rush out
of a mountain free and pure, to roll through fair pastures, to feed and
throw out bright tributaries, and to end in a village gutter? Lives that
have noble commencements have often no better endings; it is not without
a kind of awe and reverence that an observer should speculate upon such
careers as he traces the course of them. I have seen too much of success
in life to take off my hat and huzzah to it as it passes in its gilt
coach: and would do my little part with my neighbors on foot, that they
should not gape with too much wonder, nor applaud too loudly. Is it the
Lord Mayor going in state to mince-pies and the Mansion House? Is it
poor Jack of Newgate's procession, with the sheriff and javelin-men,
conducting him on his last journey to Tyburn? I look into my heart
and think that I sin as good as my Lord Mayor, and know I am as bad as
Tyburn Jack. Give me a chain and red gown and a pudding before me, and
I could play the part of Alderman very well, and sentence Jack after
dinner. Starve me, keep me from books and honest people, educate me to
love dice, gin, and pleasure, and put me on Hounslow Heath, with a purse
before me, and I will take it. "And I shall be deservedly hanged," say
you, wishing to put an end to this prosing. I don't say No. I can't but
accept the world as I find it, including a rope's end, as long as it is
in fashion.