Then agree, ye true Britons, agree, That an Englishman's always the same; Who's a tory or whig? Here's a health to all honest men. 'Tis the sun ripes the grape, 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, For wine and wit fall As their maker declines. SONG XXVI. HAD Neptune, when first he took charge of the sea, He'd have thought better on't, and, instead of his brine, What trafficking then would have been on the main The hot thirsty sun then would drive with more haste, And when he'd got tipsy, would have taken his nap ; By the force of his rays, and thus heated with wine, How happy us mortals, when bless'd with such rain, Nay, even the beggar that has ne'er a dish 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, SONG XXVII. FROM ANACREON. BY ABRAHAM COWLEY, ESQ. THE thirsty earth drinks up the rain, The sea itself (which one would think, The busy sun (and one would guess Drinks up the sea, and when that's done, They drink and dance by their own light, Fill up the bowl, boys, fill it high; SONG XXVIII. BY ARTHUR DAWSON, ESQ. YE good fellows all, * Who love to be told where there's claret good store, 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.] The good house Money Glass, Which the jolly red god so peculiarly owns; 'Twill well suit your humour, For pray what would you more, Than mirth, with good claret, and bumpers, 'squire Jones. Ye lovers who pine For lasses that oft prove as cruel as fair, Who whimper and whine For lilies and roses, With eyes, lips, and noses, Or tip of an ear: Come hither, I'll show you How Phyllis and Chloe No more shall occasion such sighs and such groans; As not to quit Cupid, When call'd by good claret, and bumpers, 'squire Jones. Ye poets who write, And brag of your drinking fam'd Helicon's brook, Is a dinner oft-times, In reward of your rhimes, With Humphrey the duke: Learn Bacchus to follow, And quit your Apollo, Forsake all the muses, those senseless old crones; Our jingling of glasses Your rhiming surpasses, When crown'd with good claret, and bumpers, 'squire Jones. |