Let's eat, drink, and play till the worms do corrupt us, 'Tis certain, Post mortem
For health, wealth and beauty, wit, learning and sense, Must all come to nothing a hundred years hence.
Thomas Jordan (1612P-1685]
AFTER ANACREON
FILL the bowl with rosy wine,
Around our temples roses twine,
And let us cheerfully awhile,
Like the wine and roses, smile.
Crowned with roses, we contemn
Gyges' wealthy diadem.
To-day is ours; what do we fear?
To-day is ours; we have it here!
Let's treat it kindly, that it may
Wish, at least, with us to stay.
Let's banish business, banish sorrow,
To the gods belongs to-morrow.
Abraham Cowley [1618-1667]
THE thirsty carth soaks up the rain,
And drinks, and gapes for drink again;
The plants suck in the earth, and are,
With constant drinking, fresh and fair;
The sea itself (which one would think
Should have but little need of drink),
Drinks twice ten thousand rivers up,
Sc filled that they o'erflow the cup.
The busy sun (and one would guess
By's drunken fiery face no less),
Drinks up the sea, and, when he's done,
The moon and stars drink up the sun:
They drink and dance by their own light;
They drink and revel all the night.
Nothing in nature's sober found,
But an eternal "health" goes round.
Fill up the bowl then, fill it high-
Fill all the glasses there; for why
Should every creature drink but I?
Why, men of morals, tell me why?
Abraham Cowley [1618-1667]
THEN let the chill Sirocco blow,
And gird us round with hills of snow;
Or else go whistle to the shore,
And make the hollow mountains roar.
Whilst we together jovial sit
Careless, and crowned with mirth and wit;
Where though bleak winds confine us home,
Our fancies round the world shall roam.
We'll think of all the friends we know,
And drink to all worth drinking to:
When having drank all thine and mine,
We rather shall want health than wine.
But where friends fail us, we'll supply
Our friendships with our charity.
Men that remote in sorrows live,
Shall by our lusty brimmers thrive.
We'll drink the wanting into wealth,
And those that languish into health,
The afflicted into joy, the oppressed
Into security and rest.
The worthy in disgrace shall find
Favor return again more kind,
And in restraint who stifled lie,
Shall taste the air of liberty.
The brave shall triumph in success,
The lovers shall have mistresses,
Poor unregarded virtue praise,
And the neglected poet bays.
Thus shall our healths do others good,
Whilst we ourselves do all we would;
For freed from envy and from care,
What would we be but what we are?
'Tis the plump grape's immortal juice
That does this happiness produce,
And will preserve us free together,
Maugre mischance, or wind and weather.
Then let old Winter take his course,
And roar abroad till he be hoarse,
And his lungs crack with ruthless ire,
It shall but serve to blow our fire.
Let him our little castle ply
With all his loud artillery,
Whilst sack and claret man the fort,
His fury shall become our sport.
Or, let him Scotland take, and there
Confine the plotting Presbyter;
His zeal may freeze, whilst we, kept warm
With love and wine, can know no harm.
Charles Cotton [1630-1687]
HARRY CAREY'S GENERAL REPLY, TO THE
LIBELLING GENTRY, WHO ARE ANGRY AT
HIS WELFARE
WITH an honest old friend and a merry old song,
And a flask of old port, let me sit the night long,
And laugh at the malice of those who repine
That they must swig porter while I can drink wine.
I envy no mortal though ever so great,
Nor scorn I a wretch for his lowly estate;
But what I abhor and esteem as a curse
Is poorness of Spirit, not poorness of Purse.
Then dare to be generous, dauntless, and gay,
Let's merrily pass life's remainder away;
Upheld by our friends, we our foes may despise,
For the more we are envied, the higher we rise.
Henry Carey [? -1743]
"Ho! why dost thou shiver and shake,
Gaffer Gray,
And why doth thy nose look so blue?"
""Tis the weather that's cold,
'Tis I'm grown very old,
And my doublet is not very new,
Well-a-day!"
"Then line that warm doublet with ale,
Gaffer Gray,
And warm thy old heart with a glass.”
"Nay, but credit I've none,
And my money's all gone;
Then say how may that come to pass?
Well-a-day!"
"Hie away to the house on the brow,
Gaffer Gray,
And knock at the jolly priest's door."
"The priest often preaches.
Against worldly riches,
But ne'er gives a mite to the poor,
Well-a-day!"
"The lawyer lives under the hill,
Warmly fenced both in back and in front."
"He will fasten his locks,
And will threaten the stocks,
Should he evermore find me in want.
Well-a-day!"
"The squire has fat beeves and brown ale, Gaffer Gray,
And the season will welcome you there." "His fat beeves and his beer,
And his merry new year,
Are all for the flush and the fair,
Well-a-day!"
"My keg is but low, I confess,
What then? While it lasts, man, we'll live."
"The poor man alone,
When he hears the poor moan,
Of his morsel a morsel will give,
Thomas Holcroft [1745-1809]
"A REASON FAIR TO FILL MY GLASS"
I'VE oft been asked by prosing souls
And men of sober tongue,
What joys there are in draining bowls
And tippling all night long?
But though these cautious knaves I scorn,
For once I'll not disdain
To tell them why I drink till morn
And fill my glass again.
'Tis by the glow my bumper gives
Life's picture's mellow made;
The fading light then brightly lives,
And softly sinks the shade:
Some happier tint still rises there
With every drop I drain,
And that I think's a reason fair
To fill my glass again.
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