Nor me of Bacchus Joys deprive,
For them I Venus will forsake:
Despise the feeble Nets she lays,
And scorn the Man she can o'ercome;
In Drinking we see happy Days,
But in a fruitless Passion none.
'Tis Wine alone that cheers the Soul,
But Love and Women make us sad;
I'm merry while I court the Bowl,
Whilst he that Courts his Madam's mad.