But hang such puny sips as these ; With our mouths unto the bung, I heard of a fop that drank whole tankards, For a cellar full of wine, And we drank the vintner out of door; In the morning, at a sup, And greedily rov'd about for more. My friend to me did make this motion, Which was superfine, The sailors swore five hundred tun; We drank it all at sea, Ere we came unto the key, And the merchant swore he was quite undone. My friend, not having quench'd his thirst, Said, let us to the vineyards haste : From thence unto the Rhine, VOL. II. 'Till Bacchus cried, "Hold, ye sots, or ye die ;' And swore he never found, In his universal round, Such thirsty souls as my friend and I. Out, fie! cries one, what a beast he makes him! He can neither stand nor go. Out, you beast you, you're much mistaken, That we drink most like a beast; But when we carouse it six in hand, 'Tis then, and only then, That we drink the most like men, When we drink till we can neither go nor stand. SONG XLIII.* THE man that is drunk is void of all care, Undaunted he goes among bullies and whores, As late I rode out, with my skin full of wine, * This song is a parody of the twenty-second ode of the second book of Horace. I boldly confronted a horrible dun, Affrighted, as soon as he saw me, he run. No monster could put you in half so much fear, In Africa's desert there never was seen A monster so hated by gods and by men. Come place me, ye deities, under the line, Or place me where sunshine is ne'er to be found, My tutor may Job me, and lay me down rules; ; 'Twas thus Alexander was tutor❜d in vain, This world is a tavern, with liquor well stor'd, SONG XLIV. (From Aurelius Augurellus,*) BY DR. PARNELL. GAY Bacchus, liking Estcourt's wine, The god near Cupid drew his chair, The more to please the spritely god, Then Cupid nam'd at every glass A lady of the sky, While Bacchus swore he'd drink the lass, Fat Comus toss'd his brimmer o'er, And always got the most; Whene'er he miss'd the toast. [Augurellus was born at Rimini, and died at Trevisa, early in the sixteenth century, at the age of 83.] They call'd, and drank at every touch, And if the gods can take too much,* 'Tis said, they did so then. Free jests run all the table round, Gay Bacchus little Cupid stung, And Cupid mock'd his stamm'ring tongue, And Jocus droll'd on Comus' ways, And tales without a jest ; While Comus call'd his witty plays But waggeries at best. Such talk soon set them all at odds, I'd sing ye, how they drank like gods, To part the fray, the Graces fly, Bacchus appeas'd, rais'd Cupid up, |