Trees drink it up again;
The Sea the Ayre doth quaff,
Sol drinks the Ocean off;
And when that Health is done,
Pale Cinthia drinks the sun:
Why, then, d’ye stem my drinking Tyde,
Striving to make me sad, I will, I will be mad.
[p. 75.]
A CATCH.
31. Fly, Boy, Fly, Boy, to the Cellars bottom: