108. The Exaltation.
1
A rout, a rout my fansie cries,
If reason shall give way to 't,
I know not what to say to 't.
Then wake sublimer thoughts, and rise,
Help me quickly,
I am sickly,
Despair is come, and pleasure dies,
2
But yet me thinks it should not do't,
Hast thou no more discretion?
Then hark to my expression,
And it will be a fair recruit.
Disinherit
Thy dull spirit
Of such thoughts as make it mute.
3
Rear up the down-falls of thy heart,
Remit both care and sorrow
Today before to morrow.
This is a melancholy smart,
From which Colledge
All the knowledge
We derive's not worth a fart.
4
Sweep down the Cobwebs of despair,
Shake hands with in-bred pleasure,
Dive in light fancies treasure;
And bid your heaviness forbear.
Be oblivious
(Not lascivious)
Of your folly, not your prayer.
5
Drink down disasters, wash away
The filth of all misfortune,
And to the Gods importune,
That Bacchus power may not decay.
'Tis Sack and Claret
That will carry't
When the world shall say you nay.
6
Reject times errors, such as steer
The conscience to perdition:
As envy and ambition.
Shun Lady-lust, if she appear,
And do not dally
In her valley,
Neither seek for Venus there.
7
Your cordial help and your redress,
Your strength and sure assistance,
(Which is not at a distance)
Is drink that from the Grape we press.
Then do not vary
From Canary;
'Tis your help and happiness.
