Classic Poem

1

Stay, stay, prate no more,
Least thy brain, like thy purse run o'th' score
Though thou strain'st it,
Those are Traytors in grain
That of sack do complain,
And rail by 'ts own power against it
Those Kingdoms and Crowns which your poetry pities,
Are faln by the pride and hypocrisy of Cities,
And not by those brains that love sack and good dities
The King and his progeny had kept 'um from sinking,
Had they had no worse foes, then the Lads that love drinking,
We that tipple ha'no leisure for plotting or thinking.

2

He, he is an Asse
That doth throw down himself with a glass
Of Canary;
He that's quiet will think
Much the better of drink,
'Cause the cups made the camp to miscarry
You whore though we tipple, and there my friend you lie,
Your sports did determine in the month before July,
There's less fraud in plain dam me , then your sly by my truly ,
'Tis sack makes our bloods both the purer and warmer,
We need not your priest or the feminine charmer,
For a bowl of Canary's a whole suite of armour.

3

Hold, hold, not so fast,
Tipple on, for there is no such hast
To be going;
We drowning may fear,
But your end will be there
Where there is neither swiming nor rowing.
We were Gamsters alike, and our stakes were both down boyes,
But Fortune did favour you being her own boyes,
And who would not venture a cast for a crown boyes?
Since we wear the right colours he the worst of our foes is,
That goes to traduce us and fondly supposes
That Cromwel is an enemy to sack and red noses.

4

Then, then quaff it round,
No deceit in a brimmer is found,
Here's no swearing,
Beer and Ale makes you prate
Of the Kirk and the State
Wanting other discourse worth the hearing
This strumpets your Muses, to ballad or flatter
Or raile, and your betters with froth to bespatter,
And your talk's all diurnals and Gunpowder matter:
But we while old sack does divinely inspire us
Are active to do what our Rulers require us,
And attempt such exploits as the world shall admire us.