Classic Poem

With Me no Water will go down,
Not ev'n from the Castalian Spring;
For Water would all Fancy drown,
And make ev'n Homer cease to sing:
Strong gen'rous Wines the Spirits cheer,
But Water is a Murmurer.

The cold insipid Stream forsake,
And quaff dull Element no more;
With Me rich Draughts of Nectar take,
And your impov'rish'd Blood restore;
Draughts that will Wit and Mirth inspire,
And tingling Love, and fierce Desire.

Let quaking Ducks, and gabbling Geese,
(A silly Water-drinking Race)
Still tipple 'till their Blood does freeze,
But let not Us our Souls debase,
Or force the bright Ætherial Fire
In gelid Potions to transpire.

'Tis Water makes the Fishes mute,
But Wine has made a Cod's-head speak;
Fools can, inspir'd with Wine, confute
Dull sober Disputants in Greek:
Water false Logick breeds, but Wine
It self's an Argument Divine!

This strikes the latent Virtues out,
And does each Faculty refine;
Greece ne'er had giv'n her Foes the Rout,
Had not her Sons drank deep of Wine:
And Troy 's tall Tow'rs might still have stood,
But for the damn'd Scamandrian Flood.

Then take a large Herculean Bowl,
With Nectar sparkling o'er its Brim,
And drench thy drowzy drooping Soul,
'Till thy gay Eyes with Pleasure swim:
And as the chearful Draughts go down,
Let Chloe 's Health the Liquor crown.

Come, and with Me to Chloe drink,
She shall the gen'rous Juice improve;
To Her we ev'ry Glass will clink,
And in this Sport out-rival Jove:
For, whate'er Gifts the Gods may boast,
They found out Wine , but Men the Toast .