SONG XLIX.
[Now, w' are high flown]
1
Now, w' are high flown,
Let's laugh, and lye down,
And revel, in the pride of our blood,
For Melancholly,
'S an idle folly
That, never brought any to Good:
Since Mirth, enlivens our Souls,
And hightens, our Spirits, with Comforting bowles;
Which, when with Courage o're grown,
A Well manag'd-Woman, shall soon take them down.
2
Wee'l ransack Nature,
T'Enjoy the Creature,
And cull out the prime of her Store;
For Wine, and Women,
Shall make us the men,
In plenty, what need we be poor?
Then drink! and more drink! let's call,
Cause, that does afford us, our Meat, Cloth, and All:
'Tis that, must keep us Alive
While, Duck-like, all weathers, we Tipple, &—
3
I like that man well,
That strikes me handsel,
Ith' Morning, with a fresh fasting-Groat;
And when we enter 't,
Cryes, hang't! let's venture 't!
Then doubles it, to Mend our Draught,
And when our Hands are well in,
Until, the hard Mid-night repeats it agin;
Then sleep a while for recrute,
And let the dry Morning, afresh, call us to't.
4
Thus, free from Thinking,
Perpetual Drinking
Be Lethe's the Cares of the World;
Our Dose, a Gallon,
The Quart's, a small one;
Then, see, that it down stayres be hurl'd:
And with It, ply us all Day
And, make it Your Work, for to keep us in Play;
But if, unfill'd to the Brim,
The devil take drawer, or Dunstan take him.
