‘Of fivescore clear glasses the number and brightness
Make up for of dishes the absence and lightness,
And the foam, sparkling pure,
Of fresh delicate wine
For Fortune’s frail lure
Blots out all regret in this memory of mine.’[120]
In a letter to St. Evremond, he mentions sundry wonderful things that should happen ‘if the Muses were as fond of the wine of Champagne as the poet who writes this to you;’ and, in one to the Marquis de Dangeau, jestingly remarks that
‘St. Maur’s harsher muse
All flight will refuse,
Unless you sustain