The English Rechabite, or, A Defyance To Bacchus and all his Works A Poem in LXVII Hexastichs. By R. W. a Wellwisher to the Body natural as well as Politick [i.e. by Robert Whitehall] |
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 | The English Rechabite, or, A Defyance To Bacchus and all his Works |  |
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THE English Rechabite: A POEM.
I
The Backward Spring is o're, and ValentineWas our Memento to abandon Wine:
Nature is not grown yet so wondrous old,
But she hath wherewithall to keep out cold;
Nor need we be beholden to the Grape
While we have in our Veins a kinder Sap.
II
Farewell, thou wadling Ws. Sire, thou God,By whom Mens Brains half Pickl'd are, half Sod,
Off from your Sign-post, and your Bush pluck down,
And sit no longer like the Man i'th' Moon,
Lest when the Devil has next his Back-side sing'd
He take thee up, and see thee soundly swing'd.
III
Thou no such Friend to high and lofty Veins,Thou Ottoman stranger to Pindarick strains,
Thou health and wealth's exhauster, Reason's Foe,
Whose drunken Priests Oaths are ne'r stir, ne'r goe;
Yet reel to th' Altar with their Ass and Goat,
You found the Kernel for Anacreon's Throat.
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IV
What art thou Brat of Jove, for whose dear sakeFew men in real good much pleasure take?
For thy sake once Mount Ida was beguil'd,
And Ganimede to an Eagle made a Child;
Drink you then Mævia off, and Ida too,
We have but one life, though twice born was you.
V
The Bacchanalia first your self begun,Where thou, in bulk as big, bestrid'st a Tun,
Where every brisk Elixir did abound
That the Star-Chamber with your Heads ran round;
Where had not Venus been most dismal Drunk,
Vulcan had never got so fair a Punk.
VI
'Tis from your Compotations that her SailsAre hoisted when her Husband's Tackling fails;
If she may this Mate cull, and that refuse,
Who blames her if the God of War she chuse?
Nor wonder if to his Embrace she yield
Whose Breast is plated, and whose Back is steel'd.
VII
What though his Iron-work Nets the Black-smith made,And caught them at their old and wonted Trade
Glu'd close in their Embraces, can you think
Love will confin'd be to a Cuckold's Link?
When Man his Mate would Caterwailing find
Link upon Link won't hold; Cat will to kind.
VIII
Hence Cupid sprang; that little apish ElfeThat will the Torch hold, though he burn himself;
Whose power and might if once he give the Stroke,
None can resist, no not an Heart of Oak:
To him we are beholden from above,
For Presidents to th' Family of Love.
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IX
'Twere endless to repeat your mutual Tradings,Your interchanging Gloves at Masqueradings;
Breeches for Petticoats, and Shirts for Smocks,
And Hair, when hang'd in one anothers Locks:
So that Apollo, once famous for his own,
By borrowed Curls and Combings now is known.
X
Your grand Olympick Sultan, Parent call'dOf Gods and Men, how many has he enthrall'd?
When laying aside his grandure, various Shapes,
Incognito, he took for various Rapes;
And the Cheat over, so demure would seem,
That Juno outrageous has out-thundred him.
XI
Hence 'tis her Tippet often up is seen,Who would prefer an Heifer to a Queen?
Who would, if not by art of Magick led
Compress a Swan to spare a Feather-bed?
Wine is that mocker irritates to court
Though 'twere a Goose, to make the wicked sport.
XII
Thanks, Bimater, for these, and such like Pranks,For your Autumnal Vintage many Thanks:
What day, what hour, if one may freely speak,
In which Jove puts not some one to the Squeak?
Pluck up your Vines, if nothing else will doe,
Rather than tread the Grape and Goddess too.
XIII
Now to our selves we come, a GenerationWell wishing to the act of Propagation,
But feeble, and yet if Jove a Rutting goe,
Who can expect but Minors should do so?
Only betwixt the two here lies the odds,
These act sub Dio, clouded act the Gods.
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XIV
Since, Bacchus, then these Jiltings from you spring,Let us the matter to a period bring:
What secret Art, what cunning is there us'd
By which the cheering grape is so abus'd?
You'l say untill it came to Vintner's Bung
Nothing by you, but Blood and Stone-Horse Dung.
XV
By your good favour, give us leave to askHow came your own squeez'd Reisons to the Cask?
Your Vine-leaves, Firr? who robs the Acorn-tree?
Who puts in Honey to invite the Bee?
Your Must was sick forsooth; die let your Wine,
Rather than to be heal'd by Turpentine.
XVI
With it Half-witted Gallants cleanse their Reins,With it does Monsieur ease his twinging Pains;
When he Coughs Fe, Fe, with his Teeth half out
Madamoiselle she, she brought me to't.
When Salivated, yet he dares not scrub,
These are the Issues of Love's Poudring Tub.
XVII
What Metamorphosis is made in SackWhen once it comes to undergoe the Rack?
Sack out of Rhenish, Rhenish out of White;
These are the Trickings call'd when come to Light.
Dig deep your Vaults, to hear Beelzebub Yell,
This misce, fiat potio came from Hell.
XVIII
In King and no King's Reign one at Bridge-foot,Yoakt Man and Wife, (and by no Laws could do't)
The form (few words are best) John take thou Joan
Rather than bite the Sheets and lie alone;
But, Justice, was it not a feeling Curse
To take their Dash for better and for worse?
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XIX
O Mercury, if thou wast ever kindSend W--- back again to speak his mind;
Let him but tell the Tithe of what he knows,
And high and low shall cancel what he owes;
But this alas is vain to set about,
The Devil, he kept alive, won't let him do't.
XX
Speak, Hermes, thou that act'st ubiquitary,Know'st all the Ingredients of the Apothecary;
Thou that wast sharer with Mal-Cutpurse once
In Plate, Rings, Watches stoln, and precious Stones:
Oblige us with the knowledge how 'tis done,
That we drink twenty things in tasting one.
XXI
Hermes.] Though 'tis beneath our Godship to impartEither the Vintner's or Wine-cooper's Art
And Mystery, yet since the present Age
Has brought us with our Wings upon the Stage,
With great applause, what they call Meliorating
Is Poys'ning meant, and flat Sophisticating.
XXII
First Milk, a wholsome Food, from whence some sayThe Goddesses make Cream i'th' Milky way;
Of it a Child may fill his Belly full,
Take up his Satchel and away to School:
'Twere otherwise with those of years more ripe
If they should suck Sack-posset from the Pipe.
XXIII
Next, Horse-flesh, though Bucephalus it were,To guzzle down in Tumblers is not fair;
What though a Jockie or a Teague can eat
Their meager Steeds for want of better Meat,
And Colts for Venison, raw, not warm'd with Spice?
Our English Men have Palates far more nice.
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XXIV
Molossus, or Bum-Sugar, chuse you which,Invented first by Circe to bewitch;
As sweet, as foul and fulsome, what is it
But a Confection from th' Infernal Pit?
But to make sure work if that chance to fail,
They put in fuzzy, thick, new Bottle Ale.
XXV
Would one not stare to see a Barr-boy comeTo knock off Alabaster from a Tomb;
And taken in the Fact to sneak and whine,
And cry, my Master wants it for his Wine.
Sirrah, I charge, if he again commands,
Thou steal no Flesh of his for whom it stands.
XXVI
To let Salt, Sulphur, Quick-lime, Turn-stol pass,With Corn decocticated, Izing-glass,
The Juice of Sloes, Starch, Allum, Whites of Eggs,
Nay, and the very Wine's own Lees and Dregs.
These and a thousand such like Tricks are tri'd,
But rich that Vessel with a wrank Swine's Hide.
XXVII
When to the Board comes a Westphalia Ham,How we admire how we commend the same?
When as that Sow a Pancake would have lost
If something else the Cook-maid out had tost;
And that fine Duck we plump and pleasant think,
Grew so from Guts and Garbage in the Sink.
XXVIII
Your Muscadale and your Frontiniack-BunchAre as destructive as is Brandy-Punch;
We meet and drink Time and our selves away,
Till we not understand what 'tis we say;
Fore-fathers at a Well could quench their thirst,
Some spitefull Hag brought hither Clusters first.
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XXIX
When Hannibal with brave Scipio contended,By Vinegar, we reade, he was befriended;
So Energetical (belive't who will)
It cut through Rocks, and could relent an Hill:
It seems in those days Wine had Spirits in't,
Can Hockamore or Bagrack flea a Flint?
XXX
Birch-wine is now come in, and, if GazetteMay gain belief, much call'd for at a Treat;
O Kent-street, Kent-street, thou art half undone,
Westminster Youths will buy Green Twigs or none;
An Oratour will else be lost, or Poet,
If any Wine flea a Flint 'tis This must doe it.
XXXI
These things are strange, yet stranger Chymists tell,If Musk decay, Man's Ordure mends the smell;
Which to make good if they persist in still,
Puss in her Majesty will take it ill:
Unless such circulations Nature make
That all things of each other do partake.
XXXII
How many Load of Muck do Peasants heapOn Mother Earth if they intend to reap?
And when the Crop is in, they drink and eat,
And whistle all out again for Mault and Wheat:
That this is naked truth is plain and clear,
However, let my Wine be Wine sincere.
XXXIII
When Sunday comes, and Sexton tolls all in,Out go they for what harm that Week has been;
Pox take these Pigeons is their Morning Pray'r,
They gorge more Pulse than they are worth this year:
But when their Pulse bespeaks a Winding-sheet,
Then, Doll, clap quick large Pigeons to my Feet.
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XXXIV
Musmelon is so superfine a thingFirst-coming 'tis a Present for a King;
But when the stubborn Glass denies to break,
And Stallion's Nourisher within must wreak,
That Sun which in Man's product has a share
The Causer is of Putrefaction there.
XXXV
What is Botargo? what is Caveare?(Trash with Exotick words makes Lordly Fare)
Both th' Entrals worth two shillings, serv'd up fine,
(With Trickings) makes the Reck'ning two pound nine:
Ask not particulars; a Shampaign Knight
Paid alwaies so; nay, then, the Score goes right.
XXXVI
Montanus or Crispînus taught the waiesTo Luxury, continu'd to our daies:
Nothing but what costs dear is estimable,
Meat from the Shambles is abominable:
'Twas so of old, and we have out-done them;
Our Cleopatra's can dissolve a Gemm.
XXXVII
Who would into his naked Bosome take(If in his wits) a Viper or a Snake?
Yet how restorative, without compare
True Venice Triacle and Viper Wines declare:
Nature made nothing useless, if we knew
How kind she is; but that's reveal'd to few.
XXXVIII
Before the Lazy world is up, too lateYour Fishwifes think they trot to Billingsgate;
And so would those they buy, for if 'twere known,
An Oyster has the like parts with our own;
Now Critick smiles, and preaches o're his Wine,
Crytick, he has so to Port Esquiline.
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XXXIX
These so glib Animals slip down apace,With a course Hand-cloth, and without a Grace;
Let Liquor float about the Room, the Oyster
Is all in all, when they have robb'd the Cloyster;
Scorbutick wretch, hadst thou not Dulman's Brains,
A Salt in it to set thee right remains.
XL
The slimy Snail, if she forsake her Shell,We spurn, or trample on, when we are well;
But when Consumptive, and our Lungs half spent,
This way for her, and that, are Servants sent.
Frogs are an A-la-mode Dish, nay, we find
Toads are an Antidote, when well calcin'd.
XLI
What is an Eele but Slime and Mud when hot?'Kin to the Snake some think, and some think not,
But what rare Bits lodge in the Lamprey-pot?
When cut in pieces how they riggle about,
As if the Soul was not as yet got out,
To clear, that 'tis in ev'ry part, the doubt.
XLII
The simple Ass Maids laugh at if she Bray,Turning their Heads awry another way;
But when they are condemn'd to leave off Silk
And put on Flannel, O for Asses Milk!
Could she, with Balaam, speak, return would be
No, my Dear, no, you make worse noise than we.
XLIII
The creeping worm, if she but shew her HeadAbove ground, underneath our Foot we tread;
Little regarding, when he comes to die,
A Potentate must at her mercy lie:
Whose Body we make use of when we live,
And find the same, when sick, relief to give.
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XLIV
The Industrious Spider spins not out for noughtHer Net-works, that th' unwary Fly be caught,
Whose Cobwebs, well disguis'd, we chuse to take
Rather than with a tedious Ague shake:
As when with Yellow Jaundise we are seiz'd
We comb Boys Heads, and with the Bugs are eas'd.
XLV
The Swallow (a Swift indeed, to disappear,And tarry but the warmer part of th' Year)
In Architecture cunning builds her Nest,
As if she meant for ever there to rest:
But when Physician calls for his supply,
Her young ones, like the Phœnix, nobly die.
XLVI
The Early Crow takes pains to build her Nest,And fights for right if Inmate her infest:
'Twas not for nothing Nature in her Books
Set down that Men may make a Meal on Rooks;
Men, like their young ones, naked born and bare,
Who make it to grow flig their only care.
XLVII
Now Crytick holds up Hand, and bites his Thumb,Full of Burlesque, while all the rest sit dumb:
Poets, quoth he, fare hard, so do not we,
They leisure have enough to climb a Tree;
For that truth let him meet me by and by,
We shall oblige him with a Puppy-pie.
XLVIII
The Mouse if we find nibling at a CheeseSo as to make her Lodgings by degrees,
'Tis tyranny to hamper in a Trap,
And interrupt her Breakfast with a snap:
Then toss her to the Cat in triumph great,
Her Excrements requite for what she eat.
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XLIX
That despicable Animal the Ant,That toils to lay up store while Sluggards want,
Scarce Animal to be call'd without a Trope,
Scarce visible without a Microscope:
This Creature so minute, when he lies ill,
Sends the great Monarch man help from her Hill.
L
Alive, as born for one anothers good,What preparations come from humane Blood?
So that when we lie foaming on the Ground,
The chiefest remedy from it is found:
Nay, further, when we cease to be alive,
Others our Brain and grated Scull revive.
LI
Experiments have of late been made to trieWhether the Man as well as Sheep shall die,
By Blood transfus'd; if Patient speak or bleat
Our Operatour then has done the Feat;
But let Projectours do whate're they can,
He is but half a Brute and half a Man.
LII
To Sun, to Moon, to Mars, to Mercury,Jove, Venus, Saturn in distress we flie:
When to be clos'd in her we are afraid,
The Bowels of the Earth are open laid
For Minerals, that the Microcosm Man
May longer live whose Life is but a Span.
LIII
From Birds, Beasts, Insects, things Inanimate,We Physick take, rather than yield to Fate;
What Sublunary things are of that worth,
That we should be so long in setting forth?
O Mammon, Mammon, what is Mammon pray?
Stiff, aggregate, consolidated Clay.
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LIV
The Chimney-sweeper would not work so hardIn expectation of a Groat Reward,
But take his Soot in kind for Recompence,
Knew he how rich a Spirit's drawn from thence;
Nor th' Emperour have sold his Subjects Piss
So cheap, if he had known what Urine is.
LV
Your Green Girls Cinders eat and Charcoal bite,Yet neither of these so much the Taste delight;
To break a Quinsie if you would make sure,
White sifted Album Græcum is the Cure:
But nigh the Grapes Blood let no rude hand come,
At least exclude that Devil of Devils Stumme.
LVI
That non-fermenting subterraneous FiendIn Stomach or in Head must work i'th' end;
Whence the Tartareous matter there remains,
Gives us the Gout when crept into our Veins:
Nor wonder then if all things goe not right,
When what we take in Red, we let out White.
LVII
The Paroxysm sure is fierce and strongThat quite bereaves the Patient of his Tongue;
Patient indeed, who sensibly can feel
That in his Hand was Yesterday in's Heel;
And very truly is he said o'retaken,
That of his nimble Feet is quite forsaken.
LVIII
Great Alexander never did intendTo make a passage to his Bosome Friend;
But he to whom the World too little was,
Was conquered by a Multiplying Glass:
Had Oloferues ne'r been steept in Wine
Judeth had fail'd in her resolv'd design.
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LIX
The Nazarite forbid to taste the Vine,When Champian made against the Philistine,
E're he had thoughts to take his latest Breath,
Did them a Courtesie before his Death:
Not Lullaby'd, nor Shorn, nor yet made Blind,
He took care Vineyards should not stay behind.
LX
Close-fisted Nabal made the matter worse,That at his best his Heart was in his Purse;
If askt when Fasting, he had Grunted No,
The Nature of the Beast was to do so;
But to deny a King part of his Feast,
This made the Drunken Churl a branded Beast.
LXI
Pharaoh's chief Butler had by th' Neck been ti'd,Had he not had a Proverb on his side;
Rabbins expound, we seldom suffer harm
From Beveridge large in which there is no Barm:
But the poor Kneader (malis avibus)
For a dull dreaming Soul was fain to truss.
LXII
Must Edenborough new London Town exceed,And Thamisis be quite run down by Tweed?
Barkley had never had his Brains refin'd,
Had he not got true Liquor to his mind.
To Brew the Grape and equal it with Beer
Is Felony in Scotland, why not here?
LXIII
The Vintner then at Algate merits praise,In Cypress clad his Sign and sable Bays;
A Signal token of remorse within
For his Adulterating, Blending sin;
Unless by a Prophetick Vision told,
No Vin de boon in England to be sold.
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LXIV
That Drawer at Oxon who in rage let flieThree Sack-buts, wading in it Ancle high,
Knew what he did, and if well understood,
'Twas for the publick Universal good:
Set free at last from some years hard restraint,
Let him be Canoniz'd the Maudlen Saint.
POSTSCRIPT.
LXV
Mirth madness is, all pleasant thoughts adieuIf the foregoing Stories hold out true;
What Pigmies must that dumpish Age produce,
In which Men are debarr'd enabling Juice?
Yet, Quære, if Bacchus put by this Nights sorrow,
If it will not return with force to Morrow?
LXVI
When Hospitality was kept i'th' Hall,And over Rump and Chine did Beards wag all,
When the Black Jack and Horn went quick about,
And Tenants warn'd to pay their Rent could do't,
Men begat Men: now Bath, Wine, Musick, Miss,
Are all we care for, our Delight and Bliss.
LXVII
Yet lest some who to Mahomet incline,In Coffee and Opium trade in stead of Wine,
Take Wives sans number, dream of Paradise,
And Virgins with black, bright, full, rouling Eyes.
Your Vessel know, then drink Sack, Pint one half,
Remembring, God bless me, and God bless Ralph.
FINIS.
| The English Rechabite, or, A Defyance To Bacchus and all his Works | |