Classic Poem

O wretched Wine! thou'rt welcome here;
Thou canst not give me cause for fear:
Though flatterers of our host may say
They find in thee a real bouquet,
Water, poor stuff—thy proper fate—
The painted flowers upon my plate!
For trashy wine, hurrah, hurrah!
'Tis for our health the best by far

Because—if thou shouldst bid me drink,
I might no more of doctor think,
Who's ever telling me, “Take care;
Enough of pleasure, and to spare!
Hymn Bacchus, as the priest who preaches
Of Heaven—though Heaven he never reaches”
For trashy wine, hurrah, hurrah,
'Tis for our fair ones best by far

Because—if thou shouldst make me seedy,
A Spanish dame who's somewhat needy,
Might well to night, were I in train,
My senses and my pocket drain:
And then Lisette, who keeps my purse,
Would find her lot so much the worse
For trashy wine, hurrah, hurrah!
'Tis for our reason best by far

Because—if thou shouldst fire my brain,
With verses armed that cost no pain,
And lusty song, perchance I might
Down on a Congress rashly light;
And thus, as demagogue, in jail
To end my orgy scarce could fail
For trashy wine, hurrah, hurrah!
'Tis for our mirth the best by far.

Because—in jail there's little laughing—
But thou, the wine I shrunk from quaffing,
Art gone! and here before me placed
Foams nectar that the gods might taste:
I'll take all risks; pour, pour me some;
I'm a philosopher become:
Pour, pour—I nothing fear; hurrah!
Good wine for me is best by far