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Then agree, ye true Britons, agree,
And ne’er quarrel about a nick-name ;
enemies trembling see,
Then who need care a fig,
Who's a tory or whig ?
'Tis the sun ripes the grape,
And to drinking gives light;
When by noon we're at height;
When he's out of sight.
It is printed in Tom's works; but that, indeed, is no conclusive proof of his property in it.
Boy, fill all the glasses,
Fill them up now he shines ;
The more he refines,
As their maker declines.
Had Neptune, when first he took charge of the sea,
What trafficking then would have been on the main
The hot thirsty sun then would drive with more haste,
By the force of his rays, and thus heated with wine,
How happy us mortals, when bless’d with such rain,
What mirth and contentment in every one's brow, Hob as great as a prince, dancing after the plow ! The birds in the air, as they play on the wing, Although they but sip, would eternally sing.
The stars, who I think don't to drinking incline, Would frisk and rejoice at the fume of the wine ; And, merrily twinkling, would soon let us know That they were as happy as mortals below.
Had this been the case, what had we then enjoy'd,
BY ABRAHAM COWLEY, ESQ.
The thirsty earth drinks
The sea itself (which one would think,
The busy sun (and one would guess
They drink and dance by their own light,
Fill up the bowl, boys, fill it high ;
BY ARTHUR DAWSON, ESQ.*
Ye good fellows all,
Of one who's ne'er frighted,
But greatly delighted, With six bottles more :
* Third baron of the Exchequer in Ireland : who is said to have translated it from one of the compositions of Carolan, a celebrated modern Irish bard. (See the life of Turlough O'Carolan, with specimens of his native muse, in ‘Historical Memoirs of the Irish Bards,' by that elegant, liberal, and much lamented scholar Joseph Cooper Walker, Esq. of St. Valeri, near Bray in Ireland.)
Be sure you
'Twill well suit your humour,
what would you more, Than mirth, with good claret, and bumpers, 'squire
Ye lovers who pine
For lilies and roses,
With eyes, lips, and noses, Or tip of an ear :
Come hither, I'll show you
How Phyllis and Chloe
For what mortal so stupid
As not to quit Cupid, When call'd by good claret, and bumpers, 'squire Jones,
Ye poets who write,
Is a dinner oft-times,
In reward of your rhimes, With Humphrey the duke :
Learn Bacchus to follow,
And quit your Apollo,
Our jingling of glasses
Your rhiming surpasses, When crown'd with good claret, and bumpers, 'squire