SONG L. At the Request of Sr. John Kyrle.
1
Let half God Bacchus, now resigne,
His Demy-ships, usurped Place!
Pomona's Juyce, is more Divine,
More Soveraign, her Grace;
Queen Apple! She,
My Love shall be,
There's none, I admire, beside Her,
Dame Barley's sappe,
And Blood oth' Grape,
Must yield to puissant Cyder.
2
This, was the Nectar, warm'd the Gods,
While Adam Wight, in Eden, Delves:
Nor must the Mortal, know the ods,
Reserved for themselves,
Till Medling Eve,
Laught in her sleeve,
And was resolv'd, what e're betyde her,
To have a Tast,
Of the Fruit (at last)
That affords, Everlasting Cyder.
3
This done, the Old Boy, she did call
To Tast, and Eat; had He bin Wise,
To squeeze, and drink, Flesh could not Fall,
'T had, rather made it Rise:
The Trojan Youth,
Had ne're (in truth)
Got Venus Boon, had he deny'd Her,
That Thing, on I'de,
Which prest, and try'de,
Made Potable Gold, for a Cyder.
4
A Dragon watcht th'Hesperides,
King Pippin's Body to secure,
And daunt atchieving Hercules,
Who ne're was Friend to Brewer,
For with the Thought,
Of this he fought,
Had the Jawes of the Beast, bin Wider,
He would have dar'd,
To passe the Guard,
For a powerful Rummer of Cyder.
5
Sherbet, Coffee, and Chocolate,
Are Heathenish Drinks, compar'd to this,
That Water (too) Unchristen'd, late
Sirnam'd Mirabilis:
Let Spain and France,
Their Wines Advance,
Our Herefordshire, they say, that try'd her,
Doth now produce
A Nobler Juice,
The Muses, and the Mortals Cyder.
6
Those of this Isle,
Are blest the while,
Whom Nature befriends with her bounty
If this Song faile,
'Tis long of Ale,
Being Shire of Another County.
