 | Small poems of Divers sorts |  |
109. To Tom Mullins.
Tom sell good Ale; and since we do thee graceTo call thy Room Apollo, and the place
With mirth and jests raise Oracles in, be sure
Thy drink have strength to make them both endure:
For it would an Impiety be of thine,
With base Ale to pollute bright Phœbus Shrine.
In lieu of Eastern perfumes we will pay
Sacrifice of Verinas every day.
Though we by mighty Liquor fall sometime,
'Tis accidental, and a generous crime;
A fate that upon strictest Friends awaites,
When those that drown themselves in brooks, Heaven hates.
| Small poems of Divers sorts | |