Classic Poem

What a plague d'ye tell me of the Papists' design?
Would to God you'd leave talking, and drink off your wine.
Away with your glass, sir, and drown all debate,
Let's be loyally merry, ne'er think of the state.
The king (Heaven bless him) knows best how to rule,
And who troubles his head, I think, is but a fool.

Come, sir, here's his health, your brimmer advance,
We'll ingross all the claret, and leave none for France;
'Tis by this we declare our loyal intent,
And by our carousing the customs augment.
Would all mind their drinking, and proper vocation,
We should ha' none of this bustle and stir in the nation.

Let the hero of Poland and monarch of France
Strive, by methods of fighting, their crowns to advance;
Let chapels in Lime Street be built or destroy'd,
And the test and the oath of supremacy void;
It shall ne'er trouble me, I'm none of those maggots,
That have whimsical fancies of Smithfield and faggots.

Then banish all groundless suspicions away,
The king knows to govern, let us learn to obey;
Let every man mind his business and drinking,
When the head's full of wine there's no room left for thinking.
'Tis nought but an empty and whimsical pate,
That makes fools run giddy with notions of state.