Classic Poem

I.

'T is Wine, much more than Gold, can make us Blest,
Then my Good-Friend! to chear me, give me store;
Not of thy Banker's, but thy Florence Chest,
Which Want of Coin, and Sense, supplies yet more:

II.

Which makes us Free, nay Happy, without Gold,
Us, without Pride too, more does Elevate;
Makes Liars speak True, sneaking Cowards Bold,
And Beggars High-flown, in the lowest State:

III.

'Tis that, makes of a Slave, a Lord, or Prince,
A Lover, less a Sot, by Drinking too;
And Empty Fools, all one, with Men of Sense,
True Friends of False, a Kind Friend of a Foe:

IV.

Then when, with Wine, you Sorrow from us take,
You, without Gold, of your Free-heart, give Proof;
Since, but more Coin we have, the more we lack,
The Poor, or Rich, drunk, own they have enough.