Let it of filver fashion'd be, As that bright cup amongst the stars. SONG XXXIX. YOU know that our ancient philofophers hold, You know that our ancient There is nothing in beauty, or honour, or gold; That blifs in externals no mortal can find, And in truth, my good friends, I am quite of their mind. What makes a man happy, I never can doubt, 'Tis fomething within him, and nothing without; This fomething, they faid, was the fource of content, And, whatever they call'd it, 'twas wine that they meant. Without us, indeed, it is not worth a pin ; But, ye gods! how divine if we get it within; "Tis then of all bleffings the flourishing root, And, in spite of the world, we can gather the fruit. When the bottle is wanting the foul is depreft, The The richest and greatest are poor and repine, If with gold and with grandeur you give them no wine; But wine to the peafant or flave if you bring, He's as rich as a Jew, and as great as a king. With wine at my heart, I am happy and free, Come fill, and this truth from a bumper you'll know, L' SONG XL. IN PRAISE OF WINE. BY BEN JONSON? ET foldiers fight for pay and praise, Let minions marshal in their hair, And artificial colours wear; We have the native red and white. 'Tis wine, &c. Your pheafant pout, and culver falmon, It makes the backward spirits brave, Thofe grow good fellows that are grave, And kindness flows from cups brim-full. 'Tis wine, &c. Some have the tific, fome the rheum, Some men want youth, and fome want health, 'Tis wine, pure wine revives fad fouts, SONG XLI. A BACCHANALIAN RANT. BY MR. HENRY CAREY. ACCHUS muft now his power refign, B I am the only god of wine; It is not fit the wretch fhould be In competition fet with me, Who can drink ten times more than he. Make a new world, ye powers divine! Le Let other mortals vainly wear A tedious life in anxious care; SONG XLII. Am the king and prince of drinkers,' We defpife your fullen thinkers, And fill the tavern with our' noife. And we drink and call for more, And make more noise than twenty can; 'Tis therefore all we swear, That the man who knows no care, He only deferves the name of a man.] My friend and I we drank whole pifspots I drank to my friend, and he drank his pot, Three bottles and a quart, We swallow'd down our throat, But hang fuch puny fips as these; We laid us all along, With our mouths unto the bung, And tipp'd whole hogfheads off with ease, I heard of a fop that drank whole tankards, But I fay now hang fuch filly drunkards, My My friend and I did join For a cellar full of wine, And we drank the vintner out of door; In the morning, at a fup, And greedily rov'd about for more. My friend to me did make this motion, Which was fuperfine, The failors fwore five hundred tun; We drank it all at fea, Ere we came unto the key, And the merchant fwore he was quite undone. My friend, not having quench'd his thirst, From thence unto the Rhine, In his univerfal round, Such thirsty fouls as my friend and I. Out, fie! cries one, what a beaft he makes him! He can neither stand nor go. Qut, you beast you, you're much mistaken, "Tis |