Classic Poem

1.

T H ere's no man so worthy of Envy as he,
Drinks Sack, and is free,
Can draw his mind to his present Condition,
And at that ebbe, can
Shew himself a better man,
Then his Enemy at his full tide of Ambition;
Has a breast so well Man'd, he fears not the thunder
Of those Bastards of fame,
That have got a Name
By Rapine and Plunder;
But bravely despiseth,
The Mock-Sun that riseth:
He that's quiet within, what need he to care,
Though not worth a groat, h'as the whole world to spare.

2.

He's arm'd 'gainst the Chances and Changes of State,
And still meets his Fate,
With a Conquering Cup of the stoutest Canary,
Drinks healths to the best,
And he Wrastles with the rest,
Yet never is foyl'd, 'less his liquor miscarry;
His thoughts are more soft then the bed that he lies on;
Who puts his cares to flight,
A Prince is o're Night,
And next Morn doth rise one;
Let th' Fates do what they will,
He's the self-same Man still:
Scepters have Palsies, and Crowns too are shaking,
Who soundly doth sleep, need not keep others waking.

3.

Then give us the Sack , let the Hen-hearted Cit ,
Drink Whey , and submit,
His Cucumber Courage does ne're well till beaten;
He, Camel -like, kneels,
And his Burthen ne're feels,
Till his back become gall'd, and his carcasse near eaten;
'Has a spirit so poor, that ev'ry Fool rides him;
He's soul-lesse, alone;
At best, but a Drone,
And no Man abides him;
He's a compact of Clay,
That will yield any way:
Tis Sack and good Company sets the Soul free,
Like the Musick of that there's no Harmonie.