The Delights of the Bottle or, The Compleat Vintner. With the Humours of Bubble Upstarts. Stingy Wranglers. Dinner Spungers. Jill Tiplers. Beef Beggars. Cook Teasers. Pan Soppers. Plate Twirlers. Table Whitlers. Drawer Biters. Spoon Pinchers. And other Tavern Tormenters. A Merry Poem. To which is added, A South-Sea Song upon the late Bubbles. By the Author of the Cavalcade [i.e. Edward Ward] |
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 | The Delights of the Bottle |  |
What Orator at Bar can plead,
Till he has rins'd his thoughtful Head,
Or, with a chearful Morning's Draught,
Refresh'd the Glandules of his Throat,
And wash'd from his awaking Mind,
The Dregs that Sleep had left behind.
The Tongue is like a Water-Mill,
Which, wanting Liquor, must stand still,
But when with Wine 'tis well supply'd,
As the Bridge Engine with the Tide,
It grinds and polishes our Wit,
And makes our stubborn Language fit
To sooth and qualify the Fury
Of angry Judge or partial Jury.
What Man can, by the force of Nature,
Be truly bright without the Creature?
Or rouze the Wit which Heav'n has giv'n him,
Unless a Bottle to enliven him?
No Lover sure can die for Beauty,
Or pine for Joys above the Shoe-tye;
No Hero hack or hew his Way
Thro' bloody Storms, for little Pay,
Nor any mortal Soul incline
To Love, or Brav'ry, but by Wine;
Without it, we should ne'er have heard
Of this wise Lord, that wond'rous Bard,
Or known the Names of Politician,
Priest, Poet, Lawyer, or Physician;
For, when we read of mighty Things
Perform'd by Heroes or by Kings,
Believe they quaff'd off briming Goblets,
Before they lac'd their Iron Doublets,
And, Dutchman like, would never fight
A stroke, until their Hearts were light;
So that, in short, those valiant Deeds
That fill our Hist'ries and our Heads,
Were, to the honour of the Vine,
Not done by Warriors, but by Wine.
Till he has rins'd his thoughtful Head,
Or, with a chearful Morning's Draught,
Refresh'd the Glandules of his Throat,
And wash'd from his awaking Mind,
The Dregs that Sleep had left behind.
The Tongue is like a Water-Mill,
Which, wanting Liquor, must stand still,
But when with Wine 'tis well supply'd,
As the Bridge Engine with the Tide,
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And makes our stubborn Language fit
To sooth and qualify the Fury
Of angry Judge or partial Jury.
What Man can, by the force of Nature,
Be truly bright without the Creature?
Or rouze the Wit which Heav'n has giv'n him,
Unless a Bottle to enliven him?
No Lover sure can die for Beauty,
Or pine for Joys above the Shoe-tye;
No Hero hack or hew his Way
Thro' bloody Storms, for little Pay,
Nor any mortal Soul incline
To Love, or Brav'ry, but by Wine;
Without it, we should ne'er have heard
Of this wise Lord, that wond'rous Bard,
Or known the Names of Politician,
Priest, Poet, Lawyer, or Physician;
For, when we read of mighty Things
Perform'd by Heroes or by Kings,
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Before they lac'd their Iron Doublets,
And, Dutchman like, would never fight
A stroke, until their Hearts were light;
So that, in short, those valiant Deeds
That fill our Hist'ries and our Heads,
Were, to the honour of the Vine,
Not done by Warriors, but by Wine.
| The Delights of the Bottle | |