My color is the wine,
With which I’ve painted thee more red than the carnation,
By drinking of the fine.
’Tis said it hurts the eyes; but shall they be the masters?
Wine is the cure for all;
Better the windows both should suffer some disasters,
Than have the whole house fall.
APOLOGY FOR CIDER
Though Frenchmen at our drink may laugh,
And think their taste is wondrous fine,