Classic Poem

1

If thou canst fashion no excuse,
To stay at home, as 'tis thy use,
When I do send for Thee,
Let neither sickness, way, nor rain,
With fond delusions thee detain,
But come thy way to me.

2

Hang such a sickness that has power,
To seize on thee at such an hour,
When thou shouldst take thy pleasure.
Go give thy Doctor half a Fee,
That it may never trouble thee,
Untill thou art at leisure.

3

We have a Cup of Sider here,
That scornes that Common strumpet, Beer,
And such dull drinks as they're
Their potions made of Hops and Mault,
Can only make our fancies hault,
This makes them quick as ayre

4

Ceres with Bacchus dares compare,
And swears her fruits the liquor are,
That Poets so implore
A sip of Sack may work a verse,
But he that drinks a bowle of Hers,
Shall thunder out a score.

5

To morrow morning come away,
Friday wee'le vote a happy day,
In spite of Erra Pater .
And bring with you a spark or twain,
Such as will drink, and drink again,
To treat about the matter.