Maggots :: :: University of Virginia Library

Mr. Jove! tho' your Chittiface Ganymed skink,
I scorn to exchange or my Plate, or my drink;
For without fear or wit the Immortals will hector,
When out of thy Bole they are fuddled with Nectar.
Whatever your Cronys the Poets have spoke,
Your Godship, when here, were a notable Soak;

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And when from your Gang you were spirited up,

A Constellation call'd the Cup.

In the midst of the Stars you planted your Cup.

A famous Story.—When one Lady had shown the other all her Jewels and fine things, she carries her home, and for her Jewels, shows her her Children.

As a Lady of Rome, in a great deal of State,
Produc'd all her brats for her Cupboard of Plate;
So if for the sight of my Treasures you call,
Here's my dear Leather-bottle, my one and my all.

See the Notes on the Souldiers Duel.

Gigantic Borrachio's Sir Quixot did fright,
And maugre poor Squire, made an Ass of the Knight;
Had my Bottle been there, 'twould ha' been more compliant,
For he ne're could mistake such a Dwarf for a Gyant.
My Vessel tho' little, dim Envy may see,
Is as neat and as pretty as pretty may be;

The great Tun of Heidleburg, with a Ladder of many rounds to ascend it.

When the Heidleburg Tun is an ill-contriv'd Sloven,
Tho' its Vent-hole's as big as the mouth of an Oven.
How cool and how sweet is the Liquor that's here,

I have taken care that should be set in other Characters, as a most considerable Flower borrow'd from my good friend John Bunnyan.

It dribbles down daintily, lively and clear!
Not Ice can preserve it as well from the weather,
Nor Water, nor Sand, as a Bottle of Leather.

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The Spirit of Ob, Webster and his Followers say, was only a Bottle, &c.

Oraculous Bottles inspir'd of old
Each worm-eaten Witch that Wonderments told:

See the famous History of the Tempest, or the Inchanted Island, where this is explained.

This Engine curst Sycorax her self could subdue,
And this did a Viceroy out of Trincalo hew.
When the Sun does with Thirst the poor Hay-maker throttle,
And tann all their Faces till they look like the Bottle;
'Tis this sets 'em right, 'tis as speedy and handy
As old Mother Midnight's kind Bottle of Brandy.
Let others plod on, till they'r crazie and brain-sick,

'Tis reported an ingenious Man had at Dantsick, (or somewhere thereabouts, te'n't much odds) a Glass which after he had drunk, he would throw on the ground, bulge it, and hammer it out agen.

For malleable Glasses, like the Consuls of Dantsick:
Let this fall where you will, all its thumps are in vain,
You may bulge it, and bulge it, and out with't again.
My Bottle besides is old Dog at Dispute,
And can Suarez, and Scotus, and Occham confute:
Nay, his own Couzin Bellarmin too must go down,
And if e're he get up, he will have him by'th' Crown.

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When Semele in Lightning and Thunder did fry,
Jove feather'd her Bastard, and sheath'd it in's Thigh:
But no doubt but he thriv'd in that Climate far worse
Than if in a Bottle he had put him to Nurse.
Some Pigmy Diogenes here might retreat,
And make it his spacious and worshipful seat;
One Room of a Floor, for a Cellar he might spare it;
'Tis needless, as well as a Chamber or Garret.
Like Maggot in Nutshel he might revel with glee,
And none be so happy, so happy as he:
Nor need he to fear that he there should be Foxed,
Tho he drank up at once both the Cellar and Hogs-head.