Fatal Friendship or the Drunkards Misery: Being a Satyr against Hard Drinking. By the Author of The Search after Claret [i.e. Richard Ames] |
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 | Fatal Friendship |  |
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THE Fatal Friendship, &c.
I.
Enough, Enough; urge me no more my Friend,(For so you are, or so at least pretend;)
I've drank enough to quench my thirst; nay, more,
I've took a Glass, or two, on pleasures Score;
And sure, you cannot think it fit,
I drink beyond my Quantum sufficit?
Why will you tempt me thus?—And with a Glass,
Fit by the Race of Gyants, to be quaft:
Think you a Pint can be a Friendly Draught?
For double Aqua Fortis has
As many Charms as in that Bumper are;
Therefore, my dearest Friend, forbear,
And show the Fatal Glass no more;
Which not to Drink, I to my self have swore.
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II.
But yet I would not have you think,'Tis Humour makes me thus forbear to drink;
Or that some sullen Maggot of the Brain,
Makes me large Brimmers thus refrain.
I ever lov'd my Friend, and Scorn to be
The Spoiler of good Company;
Yet I was ne're so Complaisant,
To pour down Drink to that Degree,
Till I could neither speak, nor stand, nor go,
Because my Company were so;
I hope, that piece of Breeding I shall ever want.
Some Irksom things one would for Friendship do,
Yet a Man's Health must be regarded too.
III.
I see your Friends are all uneasie grown;And you your self must wish me gone,
Since now I can no longer be,
What by mistake is call'd Good Company:
Pardon my Rudeness, and believe,
'Tis with Regret I take my Leave;
For I am very proud to be
The Master of my Health and Liberty;
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Which is, the benefit of your Discourse;
Instead of which, I'll walk the Groves and Fields,
And crop the sweets, the lovely Garden yields;
Since various Men do various Pleasures choose,
If you'll not envy mine, I ne're will envy yours.
IV.
Thus at a pleasant Seat of Country-Knight,Adorn'd with every thing that can delight,
One day a mighty Company were met,
I, 'mongst the rest, to share a noble Treat.
Our Dinner done, appears another Scene,
Bottles, like Locusts, to the Room swarm in,
Of several sorts of Wine; nor must they need,
That Shoeing-horn, to Drink the Indian Weed:
Bottles and Pipes the Challenge give,
Which every one does there receive;
Healths are begun, of which 'bout Three or Four
I drank, and then resolv'd to drink no more;
But took my leave, since I could plainly find,
Hard-Drinking was by all design'd;
I know, that—Squeamish Fool, and sober Sot,
Were Names, which in my absence were my Lot;
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Since now in Air my Thoughts were free:
In a thick Grove of Beech I walkt alone,
And thinking where I lately was,
And what was certain to be done,
When the concluding Punch-Bowl was in play;
Reflecting (as I, 'mongst the Trees, did pass)
Upon the Vice of Drinking, there was brought
A Thousand Notions to my Lab'ring Thought,
Which, cloath'd in Words, thus to my self did say.
V.
How in the name of Wonder hapned firstThat Vice, above all other Vices curst,
Call'd, Drunkenness, such vast esteem to find,
Amongst the Race of Human kind.
The Patriarchs, who liv'd before the Flood,
No Drink, but that of Water understood;
Till Noah planted an unlucky Vine,
And was the first Example of the force of Wine;
But too too soon the Vice familiar grew,
And when the Cups went briskly round,
The little World, call'd Man, again was drown'd,
They laught at all the Sober Few,
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Or not with them in Lewd Excesses joyn;
This truth, Old Pious Lot too plainly knew,
When from the Drunken Sodomitish Crew,
With's Wife and Daughters he withdrew,
But in a Cave the Girls contriv'd a Plot,
By pushing on the well-fill'd Bowl,
To warm their Father's aged Soul:
And when the now no longer Pious Lot,
His Dose had plentifully got,
His Wife of Salt, and Sodom's Flames, were both forgot:
The Heat of Wine, the Heat of Lust inspires,
And the old Man now burns with youthful Fires;
Incest he thinks no Crime, and now no more
Rememb'ring what his Neighbours suff'red for;
Forgetting what is Lawful, Good and Just,
Adds Sin to Sin, and his two Daughters must
By turns inflame, by turns allay his Lust.
VI.
Parent of Vices, Drinking, sure thou art,Under thy Wing they all protection find;
For he that is to Drunkenness inclin'd,
Will in no Sin refuse to bear a part.
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Be to the Arms of Ravishers betray'd;
A Person to be robb'd, nay, Murdered too,
All this a Drunkard is prepared to do;
His Reason, in a Sea of Liquor, drown'd,
To guide his Thoughts, no Pilot can be found,
But to and fro his Passions Fluctuate,
Ready for Villany at any Rate:
But oft a sad Repentance is his Lot,
And the Lewd Frolicks of a Drunken Sot,
End with a Halter, and a Psalm,
If drunk you kill, you must be hang'd when Calm;
But Newgate's Annals, Tyburn's Chronicle,
Of this sad Truth can various Stories tell.
VII.
Oft to a Tavern have I known go in,A knot of Friends to drink a Glass of Wine,
In Love and Unity they all sit down,
Now doubly welcome to each other grown;
To each Man's Health the Glass goes briskly round,
And nought but Mirth and Jollity is found;
But when one Bottle ushers in another,
And this Half Flask brings in his younger Brother:
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For now with Wine inflam'd each petty Jar,
Will 'mongst these Friends create a Civil War;
Wine spilt by accident, an Health forgot,
Or a Glass fill'd too full upon the Spot,
Can set 'em altogether by the Ears;
Rascal, and Rogue, are words they use by turns,
And each with Wine and Fury doubly burns;
Which, if too high wound up, perhaps proceeds,
To throwing Bottles at each others Heads;
Then Swords from Scabbards are lugg'd out.
And now begins the dismal Rout.
All Friendship is forgot, and each one wou'd
Be glad to bathe his Sword in t'other's Blood.
Thus in the Fury of this Brutal Wrath,
Murder ensues on One, or Both;
And they, who were such Friends before,
By Wines most powerful Operation,
Cancel the Friendship which they bore;
And he who does in such a Quarrel fall,
With highest Justice we may call,
A Sacrifice to Wine, and sudden Passion.
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VIII.
Late from the Tavern, Reeling drunk,A Gentleman (well bred, and nobly born,
Who sober, would such Actions scorn)
Perhaps shall seize upon a stroling Punk;
She likes her Prize, for well those Vermin know,
What with a Drunken Man to do:
But while, as by her side he walks,
And of his Love in broken English talks,
A Man more drunk he meets,
Who has resolv'd to scour the Streets;
He asks no leave, but boldly on does fall,
And quarrels with him both for Punk and Wall:
This he a great affront does think,
(For Men are Valiant in their Drink)
Both draw, and aukard pushes make;
And though they both may know the Art,
They thrust not now in Teirce or Cart;
But blindly fighting in the Dark,
By a chance Pass falls one, or t'other Spark,
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Be near, to part the sudden Fray.
Thus Quarrels too too oft arise,
And precious Life is laid at stake,
For the good Favours of a taudry Crack,
And doubly curst is he that wins the Prize.
IX.
But without any hindrance, now suppose,He with his Phillis to some Tavern goes;
For Taverns now, 'tis known, are doubly curst.
First, they inflame, and then they wink at Lust;
Here from warm touches, and such wanton Toys,
Which she permits as fine Decoys,
To draw him on, to taste her further Joys,
He ventures, and by Money thrown in Lap,
Gives solid Earnest for a swinging Clap.
For now the Jilts, to sell their Flesh are known,
As Butchers do their Meat by Pound or Stone:
But though the Whore with open Hand receives,
What he for Fatal Pleasures gives,
Not satisfied, she to his Pocket dives.
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By nimble Art, she picks out all his Ready;
And if Tobacco-Box, or Watch be nigh,
They shall not fail to keep it Company:
Then she troops of, and leaves him with the Curse
Of a burnt Tail, and quite exhausted Purse;
Homeward 'tis time, that now he reels,
Insensible as yet, but who can tell
The Pangs his serious Thoughts next Morning feels,
When he considers what th'effects may be
Of his last Nights Vain, Sinful Jolity.
X.
Blessed Effects of Drinking to Excess;But this does antient Proverb cross,
That Drunken Men ne're come to harm or loss;
No, Heaven o're them has a peculiar care,
Not minding how the Sober fare;
From Horse they never fall, nor by Mistake,
Ride into Ponds, a liquid Exit make;
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From whence, by falling, none e're broke a Limb;
They never meet with Quarrel, Blow, nor Wound,
Nor Dead i'th' Street, o'recome with Liquor found.
No, no,—This Truth they joyntly all confess,
Or Day, or Night, when they from Drinking come,
Tho' they want Legs and Eyes, they get securely home.
XI.
Like wretched losing Gamesters thus,Rather than they the Game will loose,
Heav'n shall be call'd, the sinking Cause t'espouse:
But can we be so impious, as to think,
That Providence o're Men in Drink,
With greater care looks down, than on
Those who are always sober known.
This were to set up Vice, and put fair Vertue down.
“But you will tell us, that the sober may
“Be kill'd, or wounded in a Fray,
“May break their Necks, be Drown'd, or lye
“Wrackt with the Gout, or in a Feavor dye;
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‘That Heav'n is theirs, more than the Drunkards Friend.
'Tis true, these Mischiefs on the good may fall,
But yet to them they are no ills at all;
The sorest of them Providence ne're sent
In Anger, as a Punishment:
Th'Appearance, ev'n of ill they all eschew,
Not seek the Causes as the Drunkards do:
No wonder then, so oft they Dangers meet,
When they will Court 'em in the Road or Street;
Leaving their Arguments, as vain and false,
Since now another way my Fancy calls:
Of Melancholory Scenes now take a View,
And tell me then if Drink can Mischief do.
XII.
See here a moving Tun of Drink,Whose Paunch in State before him walks,
While his Two Gouty Leggs come Limping after,
A Sight, will move our pitty, and our Laughter,
With pace uncertain, how he Stalks;
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Tho' parcht his Lips, as ne're with Moisture fed.
This Sea of Liquor yet will never shrink,
But freely takes his Brimmers off,
And with the latest stoutly quaff:
Nay, for his Drinking he has this pretence,
Sobriety would be the Death,
'Tis Claret that preserves his Breath;
So drink he must, ev'n in his own Defence:
But whether do these Courses tend,
Nature at last beneath the Load must bend;
Excessive heats put out her kinder Fires,
And so wrapt up in Drink, the Wretch expires.
XIII.
Another with the Gout such Pain does feel,As almost equals those upon the Wheel;
Oyls, Oyntments, Plaisters still are us'd in vain,
Nor can the Velvet Cusheon ease the Pain;
Either like strickt Carthusian now he lives,
And meanest Foods, and smallest Drink receives;
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In Frolicks, and high Drinking, Merriment)
Or else he huggs the cause of all his Pains,
And Wine alone his Palate entertains;
And when in Toe the wracking twitch comes on,
To ease the pain, he throws a Brimmer down:
All Doctors Slops he hates, and cannot think
There can be any Opiate like Drink;
And that good Claret, or some other Wine,
Sooner and better does to rest incline,
Then Laudanum, or other Anodyne:
Thus, thus, he lives—and tedious years spins out,
(For Death is seldom hastned by the Gout;)
And frequent in his Mouth this Maxims known,
Drink Wine, and have the Gout; and when that's done,
Your Gout will pain you, tho' you should drink none.
XIV.
Now a Consumptive walking Ghost appears,Stooping to Earth before th'appointed Years;
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Does of himself each time s pit up a piece:
A Hectick Feaver does his Strength consume,
And he's a perfect Skeleton become;
So Pale and Wan, that every one almost
Would swear he did not seem, but was a Ghost.
Yet to the Tavern, for a sober Jill,
Or a half Pint at most, he ventures still;
So willing is the Wretch to live, altho'
He cannot one of Life's Contentments know:
He sees the Men of Health the Bottles troul,
And drink large Bumpers from the Deep mouth'd Bowl;
While he, with little Knipperkin, by's side,
Observes the Ebbs and Flows of th' Bottles Tide,
With such Delight, as old Men when they view,
What Am'rous Thyrsis and Dorinda do,
When on a Rosie Bank, at Dawn of Day,
They sit and kiss, and play the time away:
Yet the pin'd Creature, Drinking now forbid,
(Not able to perform what once he did)
Yet pleads, that little Wine he sipt up now,
To's wasted Lungs, does as a Cordial go;
And who would that Assistance disallow?
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XV.
These are some few of that most mighty Train,Which this hard Drinking, brings on wretched Man;
Yet in the Case it is but plain and Clear,
The Body is the smallest Sufferer:
Too often the Estate the Damage feels,
And a House totters while its Master reels;
Hang lousie Mannours, what are Musty Farms,
In Ballance put with Wines Diviner Charms:
Thus Timon-like, our Spark treats on, and Drinks,
But how's Estate declines, he never thinks,
Till Duns on ev'ry side attack him so,
He must for safety to Alsatia go;
Where, while his Money lasts he shall not want,
Companions who will with him Drink and Rant;
But that once gon, his Person they refuse,
As Rats by Instinkt leave a falling House;
Pensive he walks, and knows not what to do,
Since Poverty has made the World his Foe;
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Now wets his Throat with Penitent small Beer;
Though 'tis a Change, few Men can ere endure,
To be a Stoick from an Epicure;
No Character does such a Man deserve,
(By his Excesses almost doom'd to starve)
But this,—A good Estate to's Lot did fall,
Which folilshly he pist against the Wall.
XVI.
But, what does most of all our wonder raise,And with Astonishment our Reason strike,
Is, that this Vice they will as Vertue praise,
And that no Friendship ever can be like
To that, which o're a Bottle can be made:
So strong a Cement's Wine, it will engage,
Men shall continue Friends an Age.
Tho the Acquaintance first they had,
At a lewd Drinking Match, where each one vow'd,
That he would Spend his dearest Blood;
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The Dangers can on Mankind fall;
Tho of all this a Word's not understood,
Yet they will hug and flabber one another;
The Old they Father call, the Young their Brother.
Their Friendship, thus by Wine begun,
Must by the same be carried on;
And if by accident, one meets
His Brother Red-Nose in the Streets;
They, with dry Lips, no more can part,
Than can a Parent from his Son in Cart,
Refrain from Tears.—Old Customs they'll not break,
Each in a Glass must dip his Beak;
With modest Pints, they first begin,
And that the Tall-boy ushers in;
Then, in large Brimmers, all their Cares they drown,
And useless Reason tumbles down:
Yet they are Friends, most mighty Friends, indeed,
And for each other, both their Purses bleed;
So long, till one does a Consumption find,
And when that's gone,—Where will you find the Friend?
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XVII.
But, which is worst of all, our Gentry now,Make Drinking—Friendship, and their Glory, too;
And him the bravest Man they reckon, who
Can his large Bumpers stifly quaff,
And carry half a Score of Bottles off;
And him unfit for Conversation think,
Who boggles with the Glass, and will not drink:
If I, quite weary of the nauseous Town,
To see an honest CountryFriend, go down;
I am received with all the kind Address,
That un-disguised Friendship can express;
With wonder, I behold his plenteous Board,
With what ev'n Luxury could wish-for stor'd;
And when, with choicest Foods, I have
Giv'n Nature the Refreshment she did crave;
Taking my Glass, in order, as it came,
Gently to stir the Vital Flame,
I thought, that then some respite was allow'd,
To sit a while, and talk, or chew the Cudd.
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But Bottles came in Clusters on.
Now I've a doubtful Task to chuse,
Either to Drink, or else refuse:
If I through easiness comply,
(And Men sometimes want power for to deny)
I must resolve with Reason to shake Hands,
And represent the Brute, in shape of Man,
While pretious Health, in doubtful posture, stands;
For who can tell, how much I may oppress
The Vital Heat, by such a Grand Excess;
And the firm strength, which now I'm sure is mine,
This (Friendly kind) Debauch may undermine,
And shorten Life t'an Inch, which Nature made a Span?
If I refuse, and no Perswasions can
Tempt me to stay, and drink like them,
Me, as an ill bred Fool, they then condemn;
But Heav'n be praised, these Scandals wound not deep;
Let them rail on, while Life's chief Blessing, Health I keep.
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XVIII.
And this, d'ye Friendship call, as well you may,Call an Italian Friend, who can convey
A secret Poyson to your Heart,
Prepar'd with so much curious Art,
Which shall most certainly, or soon, or late,
Close up your Eyes, and Seal your Fate:
But our bold Sons of Bacchus, here,
Do in their practice openly appear;
Who, on you, when they force the Glass, or Cup,
Pale Poyson, in Disguise of Wine you sup;
Yet think not Poyson from the Grape they press;
No, Wine's a Cordial, till by lewd Excess,
It does its kind refreshing Nature lose,
And Death lies lurking in the noble Juyce:
And can that Man be then my Friend,
Who, because, Mithridates-like,
He Poysons can digest (for Wine's no less,
When swallow'd to a vast Excess)
Will unto me the fatal Draught commend.
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Its Sail let Sence and Breeding strike
To Savages, and Indians, who
European Vices never knew,
For, if not Christians, yet 'tis own'd they're Men.
XIX.
Alas! What Pleasure can there beIn an half Fluster'd-Company:
One while, like Dover-Court, 't appears,
All Men have Tongues, but none have Ears;
Another time they will be Sitting,
As mute, as Quaker's silent Meeting;
Till one more, Witty than the rest,
Tells 'em a sad insipid Jest;
And then they laugh at such a rate,
Yet scarcely one can tell for what:
Here one, with Secret, hard in Labour,
Delivers it in Ear of Neighbour;
Which, from his Breast, had never broke,
Had not Wine slily pickt the Lock.
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And sort of Oaths are out of date;
And what new Faces daily meet,
At Famous House of Chacolett.
One, in the Story of's Mishaps,
Forgets not to relate his Claps;
At which, his Neighbour laughs, and tells him,
Such Ills far oftner have befel him,
One to the Chimney-corner creeps,
And there, in quiet, fairly sleeps;
Another does, by's Spewing, tell us,
Something in's Stomach's grown Rebellious:
One Sings; at which another Bawls,
And vows he only Catterwawls:
Thus, in a Scene of Noise and Strife,
They waste the pretious Hours of Life;
Till Death shall let the Curtain drop,
And then their Game of Folly's up.
XX.
Though Heaven ordain'd, that Man should beA Creature, sitted for Society;
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What Benefit to Body, or to Mind,
Can e're accrue from a wild Friendship, where
No other Entertainments found,
But still to see the Bottle keeps its round;
All sober-thinking they abhor,
And Learned Talking is kickt out of Doors:
But if of Dogs and Horses------
XXI.
------And here the Chain of ThoughtIn Meditation, to an end was brought
Occasion'd by a mighty Noise, which came
From the same House, from whence I lately went,
The Penance of Hard-Drinking to prevent;
Thither I hastned, and was struck to see
Their pleasant Scene of Mirth and Jollity,
Now turned to Blood, and Wounds, and Tragedy.
The Foolish Fray was hardly over,
When in the Room I did my self discover;
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Then flew through th' Window, without further harm
(Yet, in that number, there were only Two,
Who me again distinctly knew;)
The Noble Knight, strove by all means he cou'd,
To hinder spilling Christian Blood;
For Wine, and Passion, put 'em in a flame,
Not quickly to be Quencht;—but yet, at last,
Each quietly sat down, as no such thing had past.
XXII.
Then of the sob'rest in the Room,(Tho' ev'ry Man was purely overcome,)
I askt th' occasion, how this Quarrel rose?
Who told me, That a Spark would needs impose
A Health on's Friend, which he point blank refus'd;
At which, in's Face, a Glass of Wine he threw;
And after that, his Tilter drew,
And swore, that they that would not pledge that Health,
Were Sons of Whores, and lov'd a Common-Wealth:
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And Swords were ready drawn for Blood;
But after some few angry Passes made,
One prickt i'th Arm, and t'other cut on the Head.
Slight Wounds:—But, after much Perswasions us'd,
As fresh they to their Drinking fall,
As if they had not drank at all;
To see the up-shot on't, I would not stay,
But thus reflected in my homeward way;
That though to chuse our Fortunes, Heav'n will not
Allow; yet were this double Choice my lot,
I'd rather be an Hermit, than a Sot.
FINIS
| Fatal Friendship | |