I mind not the members and makers of laws,
Let them sit or prorogue as his Majesty please;
Let ’em damn us to Woolen, I’le never repine
At my usage when dead, so alive I have wine;
Yet oft in my drink I can hardly forbear
To blame them for making my claret so dear.
I mind not grave allies who idly debate
About rights and successions, the trifles of State;
We’ve a good King already, and he deserves laughter
That will trouble his head with who shall come after:
Come, here’s to his health! and I wish he may be
As free from all cares and all troubles as we.
SECOND PART.
What care I how leagues with Hollanders go,
Or intrigues ’twist Mounsieurs or Dons for to?
What concerns it my drinking if cities be sold,
If the conqueror takes them by storming or gold?
From whence claret comes is the place that I mind,
And when the fleet’s coming I pray for a wind.
The bully of France that aspires to renown
By dull cutting of throats, and by venturing his own;
Let him fight till he’s ruined, make matches, and treat,
To afford us still news, the dull coffee-house cheat:
He’s but a brave wretch, whilst that I am more free,
More safe, and a thousand times happier than he.
In spite of him, or the Pope, or the Devil,
Or faggot, or fire, or the worst of hell’s evil,
I still will drink healths to the lovers of wine,
Those jovial, brisk blades that do never repine;
I’ll drink in defiance of napkin or halter,
Tho’ religion turn round still, yet mine shall ne’er alter.
But a health to good fellows shall still be my care,
And whilst wine it holds out, no bumpers we’ll spare.
I’ll subscribe to petitions for nothing but claret,
That that may be cheap, here’s both my hands for it;
’Tis my province, and with it I only am pleased,
With the rest, scolding wives let poor cuckolds appease.
No doubt ’tis the best of all drinks, or so soon
It ne’er had been chose by the Man in the Moon, [110]
Who drinks nothing else, both by night and by day
But claret, brisk claret, and most people say,
Whilst glasses brimful to the stars they go round,
Which makes them shine brighter with red juice still crown’d.
For all things in Nature doe live by good drinking,
And he’s a dull fool, and not worthy my thinking,
That does not prefer it before all the treasure
The Indies contain, or the sea without measure;
’Tis the life of good fellows, for without it they pine,
When nought can revive them but brimmers of wine.
I know the refreshments that still it does bring,
Which have oftentimes made us as great as a king
In the midst of his armies where’er he is found,
Whilst the bottles and glasses I’ve muster’d round;
Who are Bacchus’ warriors a conquest will gain
Without the least bloodshed, or wounded, or slain.