Bacchanalia or A Description of a Drunken Club. A Poem [by Charles Darby] |
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| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
 | Bacchanalia |  |
To give you an Account of my Belief,
Quoth one deep Sage, who thought himself a Chief,
I'm no Mahometan:
But utterly desie the Alcoran;
Whose Cursed Laws forbid the use of Wine.
Nor shall the Jews Religion be mine,
Which so abhors that harmless Beast, the Swine.
The Pope I do Pronounce to be
Stark Antichristian
Which prove by forty Arguments I can.
But only, name this One, I shall,
So strong, it well may serve for all,
He takes the Cup from honest Layity.
Base dirty Clown!
I wonder in what Town,
Unless it were Hogs-Norton, he was bred.
To drink to men,
And presently forbid,
On pain of Death, they must not pledge agen.
Were He un-erring; as He dos pretend,
His Wit would Him have better Manners taught:
But Wit, and Manners both, I see, are naught.
And shall I then believe
What such a Slovenly Religion saith,
And pin my Faith
Upon a Snotty Sleeve?
No, no; if e're my Reason I resign,
It shall be only to a Glass of Wine.
Thus did this Heroe vent,
'Gainst Triple-Crown, his discontent;
Throughout which whole Discourse, thought I,
An Argument close coucht doth lie,
'Gainst Rome's Infallibility,
Stronger then what hath yet expressed been:
For Standers by are apt to think,
That Popes, sometimes, may be in Drink,
And then, as rambling, talk, as other men.
Quoth one deep Sage, who thought himself a Chief,
I'm no Mahometan:
But utterly desie the Alcoran;
Whose Cursed Laws forbid the use of Wine.
Nor shall the Jews Religion be mine,
Which so abhors that harmless Beast, the Swine.
The Pope I do Pronounce to be
Stark Antichristian
Which prove by forty Arguments I can.
But only, name this One, I shall,
So strong, it well may serve for all,
He takes the Cup from honest Layity.
Base dirty Clown!
I wonder in what Town,
Unless it were Hogs-Norton, he was bred.
10
And presently forbid,
On pain of Death, they must not pledge agen.
Were He un-erring; as He dos pretend,
His Wit would Him have better Manners taught:
But Wit, and Manners both, I see, are naught.
And shall I then believe
What such a Slovenly Religion saith,
And pin my Faith
Upon a Snotty Sleeve?
No, no; if e're my Reason I resign,
It shall be only to a Glass of Wine.
Thus did this Heroe vent,
'Gainst Triple-Crown, his discontent;
Throughout which whole Discourse, thought I,
An Argument close coucht doth lie,
'Gainst Rome's Infallibility,
Stronger then what hath yet expressed been:
For Standers by are apt to think,
That Popes, sometimes, may be in Drink,
And then, as rambling, talk, as other men.
| Bacchanalia | |