The Tipling Philosophers :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Tipling Philosophers

A Lyrick Poem. To which is subjoin'd, A short Abstract of their Lives and most memorable Actions [by Edward Ward]

Ward, Edward (1667-1731)

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[The Tipling Philosophers.]

Wise THALES the Father of all
The Greek Philosophical Crew,
E're he gaz'd at the Heavens, would call
For a chirruping Bottle or two,
That, when he had brighten'd his Eyes,
He the Planets might better behold,
And make the Fools think he was wise,
By the whimsical Tales that he told.

Wise SOLON, who carefully gave
Good Laws unto Athens of old,
And thought the Rich Crœsus a Slave,
Tho' a King, to his Coffers of Gold.
He delighted in plentiful Bowls,
But drinking much Talk would decline,
Because 'twas the Custom of Fools
To prattle much over their Wine.

PHERESYDES, when cloy'd with good Wine,
Imprudently fell to cold Water;
From thence many things did divine,
Which happen'd by accident a'ter:

But when he began to despise
Warm Juice, for a Liquor so cool,
His Body was turn'd into Lice,
And he lousily dy'd like a Fool.

ANAXAGORAS drank like a Lord,
Till Wine had quite dazzl'd his sight,
And, when he was tipsy, averr'd,
That Snow was all black, tho' its white;
Yet still he made shift to behold,
That the Sun had a Stone in his Face,
Which, according as he had fortold,
Fell down by a River in Thrace.

Grave ARCHELAUS tippl'd much Wine,
Or sure he could never have thought,
That the Lights, which above us do shine,
Were Masses of Iron Red-Hot.
His Pupils must certainly think,
That their Master had gally'd his Wits,
Or that he was us'd in his drink,
To spew out such merry Conceits.

Old SOCRATES ne'er was content,
Till a Bottle had heighten'd his Joys,
Who, in's Cups, to the Oracle went,
Or he ne'er had been counted so Wise.

Late Hours he certainly lov'd,
Made Wine the delight of his Life,
Or Xantippe would never have prov'd,
Such a damnable Scold of a Wife.

Bold XENOPHON study'd a while,
Till he sound the true way to be Wise,
Was all Night at the Bottle, to toil
Till the Sparkles flew out of his Eyes;
Which so nobly inspir'd his Soul,
That he took up the Sword and the Shield,
So quitted his Books for the Bowl,
And became a Brave Man in the Field.

ARISTIPPUS, the Frolick and Gay,
Tho' Wise, would not baulk his delight,
But drank in the Pride of the Day,
Hug'd Lais of Corinth at Night.
He was always as free as a Prince,
And quick at a Pun or a Jest,
Would never grutch any Expence,
To purchase a Cup of the best.

HEGESIAS, Death's Orator, taught,
That Life was scarce worth our desire;
But the Cause of his dulness of Thought,
Was the want of a Glass to inspire;
For drinking a Bottle by Chance,
He found out the Pleasure of Life,
And vow'd 'twas the way to advance
The Soul above Sorrow and Strife.

THEODORUS, that God of a Man,
Who fancy'd his Person Divine,
Could never have been so Prophane,
Without frequent Excesses of Wine;

Nor could such an Atheist as he,
Be Content with a moderate Load,
But must drink like a Fish in the Sea,
To soar to the Pitch of a God.

Lewd BION would Tipple like mad,
And talk very wickedly too,
Or else he would never have said,
The Gods were a Bastardly Crew,
And when he got drunk at a Feast,
To Crown his inebrious Joys,
He then would reel home like a Beast,
And tap the Butt-end of his Boys.

Old EUCLIDES, Crafty and Cross,
Who much to Contention was given,
His Bumpers would Chearfully toss,
To make his odd Temper more even;
Yet was so Litigious a Sot,
And under so wretched a Curse,
That the more still he handl'd the Pot,
It made the old Rogue but the worse.

EUBULIDES, skill'd in the Cheats
Of Logick, would, over his Glass,
Endeavour to make his Deceits
With his Ignorant Auditors pass;
But studying too much of the quirk,
And drinking too little good Wine,
Death snatch'd him away with a Jirk
And spoil'd his falacious Design.

MENEDEMUS, that maker of Tents,
Who also could handle his Arms,
When a Soldier, had always the sence
To allow that the Bottle had Charms;

But when he was made a wise Sage
By Plato that Heathen Divine,
He famish'd himself in his Age
For want of good Victuals and Wine.

Old Plato was reckon'd Divine,
He wisely to Vertue was prone,
But had it not been for good Wine,
His Merits we never had known.
By Wine we are Generous made,
It furnishes Fancy with Wings,
Without it we ne'er should have had
Philosophers, Poets, or Kings.

SPEUSIPPUS, tho' Learned and Wise,
Yet marry'd when Jolly and Young,
But Crown'd with the Bottle his Joys,
In spite both of Tail and of Tongue,
And when he was Aged, and past
The pleasures of Wine and a Friend,
He grew discontented at last,
And boldly compleated his End.

Young POLEMO drank and he whor'd,
Altho' he'd a pretty young Wife,
And pleasur'd his Lusts like a Lord
Given up to an infamous Life;
But once being drunk as a Rake,
He reel'd to Xenocrates's School,
Where the Sage took the trouble to make
A Philosopher of the young Fool.

ARCESILAUS, Noble and Free,
And Learned and Wise as the rest,
Would merry and frolicksome be,
And drink, like a Duck, at a Feast.
He valu'd no publick Reproach,
But still would his Humour enjoy,
And when he was Tipsy would broach
A Wench, or a Catamite Boy.

ARISTOTLE, that Master of Arts,
Had been but a Dunce without Wine,
And what we ascribe to his Parts,
Is but due to the Juice of the Vine.

His Belly, some Writers agree,
Was as large as a watering Trough,
He therefore jump'd into the Sea,
Because he'd have Liquor enough.

THEOPHRASTUS, that Eloquent Sage,
By Athens so greatly ador'd,
With the Bottle would boldly Engage;
When Mellow was brisk as a Bird,
Would Chat tell a Story, and Jest,
Most pleasantly over a Glass,
And thought a dumb Guest at a Feast,
But a dull Philosophical Ass.

Old STRATO, who kept up a School,
To teach Philosopical Drones,
Drank Wine, like a Blockhead, by Rule,
Till h'ad scarce any Flesh on his Bones,
Yet liv'd to a very great Age,
By constantly wetting his Clay,
And when he grew sick of this Stage,
He insensibly stagger'd away.

Old LYCON, the Pedant, who rais'd
His Fame by the teaching of Youth;
With the best of his Rhetorick prais'd
Those Wines that were fit for his Tooth.
He drank like a notable Sage
Till his Sands and his Liquor were out,
Then dy'd at a reverend Age,
Of that cursed distemper the Gout.

DIOGENES, Surly and Proud,
Who Snarl'd at the Macedon Youth,
Delighted in Wine that was good,
Because in good Wine there's Truth;
Till growing as Poor as a Job,
Unable to purchase a Flask,
He chose for his Mansion a Tub,
And liv'd by the Scent of the Cask.

MENIPPUS, that covetous Knave,
Who lent Money out upon Pawns,
And extravagant Premiums would have,
Of his Friends and's Neighbours for Loans;
In Wine, or in any delight
He ne'er would diminish a Cross
But Rob'd of his Riches at Night
He hung himself after his Loss.

Old ZENO lov'd Musick and Wine,
And often would steal with his Friend,
To a Musick-house where he would Dine,
And drink, when h'ad Money to spend;
At last, overcome by the Glass,
He stagger'd and fell in his School,
Then vex'd he should be such an Ass,
He Throttl'd himself like a Fool.

ANTIPATER, that Prophet of Old,
Who was such an accurate Sage,
Some say, many Wonders foretold,
In his Youth that fell out in his Age.

But many are given to think,
That before he could ever Divine,
His Bottle he'd chearfully drink,
Then guess by the Strength of his Wine.

PYTHAG'RAS did Silence enjoin
On his Pupils, who Wisdom would seek,
Because that he tippl'd good Wine,
Till himself was unable to speak;
And when he was whimsical grown,
With sipping his plentiful Bowls,
By the strength of the Juice in his Crown,
He conceiv'd Transmigration of Souls.

HERACLITUS would never deny
A Bumper to Comfort his Heart,
But when he was Maudlin would Cry,
Because he had empty'd his Quart:
Tho' some are so foolish to think,
That he wept at Man's Folly and Vice,
When 'twas only his Custom to Drink,
Till the Liquor flow'd out of his Eyes.

XENOPHANES tippl'd, 'tis plain,
That's Impudence might be compleat,
Or sure he too modest had been,
To sing his own Works in the Street;
Nor could he have spun out the Line
Of his Life, to a hundred or more,
If he had not found means to get Wine,
Altho' the Old Fellow was poor.

PARMENIDES, wise as the rest,
Of th'old Philosophical Crew
Would drink, Poet like, of the best,
As his Works do sufficiently shew;

Or else we should never have seen
His Philosophy dizen'd in Verse,
But his musty Old Notions had been
As dull as a Mountebank's Farce,

LEUCIPPUS would never have soar'd,
By study, so wonderful high,
Unless that Good Wine had impowr'd
His Fancy to travel the Sky:
To enliven and lighten his Soul,
He drank till the mid of the Night,
Because by his sinking the Bowl,
He found that he heighten'd his Flight.

DEMOCRITUS always was glad,
To Tipple and Cherish his Soul,
Would Laugh like a Man that was Mad,
When over a flowing Bowl;
As long as his Cellar was stor'd,
His Liquor he'd merrily quaff,
And when he was drunk as a Lord,
At those that were Sober he'd Laugh.

PROTAGORAS, Porter and Clown,
Bred up to the Carriage of Wood,
Had ne'er been a Sage of renown,
If he had not drank Wine that was good.

Democritus tempted him home,
There gave him a Jug for his Faggot,
And made him, when drunk as a Drum,
Turn wise Philosophical Maggot.

ANAXARCHUS, more Patient than Job,
By Pestles was pounded to death,
Yet scorn'd that a Groan or a Sob
Should wast the remains of his Breath.
But sure he was free with the Glass,
And drank to a pitch of disdain,
Or the strength of his Wisdom, alas!
I fear, would have flinch'd at the Pain.

When PYRRHO had taken a Glass,
He saw that no Object appear'd,
Exactly the same as it was,
Before he had Liquor'd his Beard;
For things running round in his Drink,
Which sober, he motionless found,
Occasion'd the Sceptist to think
There was nothing of Truth to be found.

EPICURUS, who some do report,
Lov'd Water much better than Wine,
Yet others as firmly assert,
That he swallow'd his Cups like a Swine,
And so to the Bottle was prone
As well as to feed like a Bear,
That the Beast was so tunbelly'd grown,
He could not rise out of his Chair.

LONGINUS would tipple in State,
And sit like a Judge o'er his Glass,
Of his Nouns and his Pronouns would prate,
Like a haughty Pedantical Ass.
In paying for Wine which he lov'd,
By changing his Money so oft,
He Arithmetick highly improv'd,
And flourish'd by teaching his Craft.

PORPHYRIUS, who travel'd to Rome,
Was cunning in every Art,
And tippl'd in hopes to become
Very wise, by the help of the Quart,
Thus chasing the Bottle for Years,
He grew a most wonderful Sage,
And drank till his Reverend Hairs
Were honour'd for Wisdom and Age.

JAMBLICUS, that Jolly old Cuff,
A Man of an affable Wit,
Would often drink more than enough,
Altho' he but sparingly eat.
For had he not taken a Cup,
We'd ne'er had the comical Tale,
Of his bathing and conjuring up
A couple of Imps in the Well.

ÆDESIUS, that minder of Dreams,
By which he would often Divine,
Altho' he would pray by extreams,
Yet still he would take off his Wine;
For drunk and unable to stand,
As once he was taking his Nods,
Some Knave wrote a Jest on his Hand,
Which he fancy'd was done by the Gods.

EUSTATHIUS whose eloquent Tongue,
Was held to be charming and fine,
No wonder it was so well hung,
Since he Liquor'd it daily with Wine,
But fair Sisopatra his Dame,
Was learn'd to a greater degree,
And talk'd him quite out of his Fame,
Because she drank harder than he.

Rich MAXIMUS, who, for his Worth,
And Wisdom, was envy'd by Greece,
Thought the Bottle a Heav'n upon Earth,
And drinking the sweetest of Bliss;

When tortur'd by Val. as he lay,
He call'd for a comforting Cup
But his Wife drank it up by the way,
And swore she'd not give him a Drop.

Old PRISCUS, who liv'd to the Age
Of Ninety, tho' some do say more,
Much sooner had quitted the Stage,
If he had not drank Liquor good store;

But finding it lengthen his Days,
He thought 'twas no Crime to be mellow,
And coveted no other Praise,
Than that of an honest good Fellow.

JULIANUS, that Sophister, he
All Night o'er the Bottle would sit,
And had he not drank very free,
We ne'er should have heard of his Wit;
For when he'ad the Glass in his hand,
In's mouth he had always a Jest,
And Rhetorick most at Command,
When warm'd with a Cup of the best.

PROÆRESIUS, the Handsom and Tall,
Whose Tongue had the Charms of a Lute,
When ever he spoke in the Hall,
He struck his Competitors mute;
Because, as some Writers do think,
He'ad Wine when his Rivals had none,
Or if they had any to drink,
He took off two Cups to their one.

Old XANTUS, we've reason to think,
Had a Gut like the Heidelburgh Fat,
And that he was custom'd to drink,
Full as much as that holds, at a draught,
Or Æsop would never have lay'd,
That his Master should drink up the Sea,
But he knew that he'd guzzle like Mad,
Till none were more merry than he.

DEMOSTHENES, who, by report,
Had so sweet and so charming a Tongue,
If he had not drank Wine by the Quart,
It would never have been so well hung;
Yet Philip Expell'd him from Greece,
As a Man of a Wicked Design,
Which caus'd him to drink to excess,
Till he poyson'd himself with ill Wine.

ZALUCUS, that Giver of Laws,
Once with his own Son did agree,
For promotion of Bacchus's Cause,
To drink till they neither could see.
But to Cozen the People with Lies,
When they found their sight was decay'd,
They reported they'd put out their Eyes,
To obey a good Law they had made.

Old SENECA, fam'd for his Parts,
Who tutor'd the Bully of Rome,
Grew wise o'er his Books and his Quarts,
Which he drank like a Miser at home;
And to shew he lov'd Wine that was Good,
To the last, we may truly aver it,
That he tinctur'd his Bath with his Blood,
So fancy'd he dy'd in his Claret.

Old PISO, as sneaking as he,
Would often be baulking his Glass;
O'er his Wine he from Plotting was free,
But when sober a Treacherous Ass:
He had given his Politicks o'er,
And Laugh'd at Designs that are base,
Had he Drank but a Tun or two more,
And Thought but a little the less.

Wise CATO believ'd a full Bowl,
Was good for his Wit and his Health,
But when he was sober, the Fool
Would be stiff for a Common-Wealth:
But had he drank chearfully on,
He'd have ne'er against Nero conspir'd,
But had Rhim'd like Apollo's own Son,
And had been with true Loyalty fir'd.

COPERNICUS, like to the rest,
Believ'd there was Wisdom in Wine,
And fancy'd a Cup of the best
Made Reason the brighter to shine.
With Wine he replenish'd his Veins,
And made his Philosophy reel,
Then fancy'd the World, like his Brains.
Run round like a Chariot-Wheel.

Our Sages whose Books are their Wives,
May hunt the Philosopher's Stone,
And be proud of their Continent Lives,
As if that themselves had none.
But if they would come at the Prize,
They ought to be Jolly, and drink,
For the true Modern Way to be Wise,
Is neither to Read or to Think.

The Blockhead must lose his Aim,
That studies Old Aristotle,
For the ways that we rise to Fame,
Are the Petticoat, Dice and Bottle.
Thus if you would climb to Pow'r,
And be a True Whig of Trust,
Your way is to Drink and Whore,
And neither be Learn'd or Just.

FINIS.