SOTO. A CHARACTER. IN Soto's Bosom you may find The Glimm'ring of a worthy Mind: Tis but a faint and feeble Ray, Imperfect as the dawning Day; Yet were the jarring Passions tun'd, And the wild Branches nicely prun'd, The Soil from Thorns and Thistles clear, Some latent Virtues might appear: I'th' Morning catch him, (early tho' Your Bird will else be flown, I trow,) E'er he has reach'd the bowzing Can, You'll find the Stamp of reas'ning Man: Then see the Wretch whom none can rule, E'er Night a Mad-man and a Fool; The witty Soto then you'll find, Just level with the brutal Kind. With crimson Face and winking Eyes, That look like Woodcocks, mighty wise: See streams a Current down his Chin, From soft Tobacco lodg'd within; Be pleas'd to steal a Glance or two, But one may serve to make you — He fain wou'd walk, but cannot stand, And see a Palsy in his Hand; And tho' his Throat has swallow'd down Two Gallons of October brown, His greedy Guts impatient roar, And seem to call aloud for more: More they shall have: But hark, within Is heard a rude and lawless Din: Wind, Ale, and Phlegm their Powers wage, And Hickups call them to engage; And now, Ah now! incessant flows The frothy Tide from Mouth and Nose: No more is seen the cover'd Ground, But a huge River floating round: Down drops the Youth, his giddy Head Falls easy on the liquid Bed: So swam Achilles fierce and brave, On angry Xanthus's swelling Wave; And 'scap'd with being wet to th' Skin; For Pallas held him up by th' Chin: So Bacchus saves, by mighty Charms, His helpless Devotee from Harms: And Soto sleeps till break of Day, Then shakes his Ears and walks away.