Classic Poem

Bacchus , I-acchus , fill our Brains
As well as Bowls with sprightly strains:
Let Souldiers fight for pay or praise,
And mony be the Misers wish,
Poor Schollers study all their dayes,
And Gluttons glory in their dish:
'Tis wine, pure wine, revives sad souls,
Therefore give us the cheer in Bowls.
Bacchus , I-acchus , &c.

Bacchus , I-acchus , &c.
Let Minions Marshall ev'ry hair,
Or in a Lovers lock delight,
And Artificiall colours wear,
We have the Native Red and White:
'Tis Wine, pure Wine, &c.

Bacchus , I-acchus , &c.
Take Phesant Poults, and calved Sammon,
Or how to please your pallats think,
Give us a salt West-phalia Gammon,
Not meat to eat, but meat to drink:
'Tis Wine, pure Wine, &c.

Bacchus , I-acchus , &c.
Some have the Ptisick, some the Rhume,
Some have the Palsie, some the Gout,
Some swell with fat, and some consume,
But they are sound that drink all out:
'Tis Wine, pure Wine, &c.

Bacchus , I-acchus , &c.
The backward spirit it makes brave,
That forward which before was dull;
Those grow good fellows that were grave,
And kindness flows from cups brim full:
'Tis Wine, pure Wine, &c.

Bacchus , I-acchus , &c.
Some men want Youth, and some want health,
Some want a Wise and some a Punke,
Some men want wit, and some want wealth,
But they want nothing that are drunke:
'Tis Wine, pure Wine, &c.