Some friendly dear Companion of a Book,
Whose homely Calves-skin fences did contain
The Verbal Treasure of some Old good Man:
Made by long study and experience wise,
Whose piercing thoughts to Heavenly knowledge rise,
Amongst whose Pious Reliques I would find,
Rules for my Life, Rich Banquets for my mind,
Such pleasing Nectar, such Eternal Food,
That well digested, makes a Man a God;
And for his use at the same time prepares
On Earth a Heav'n in spight of worldly Cares,
The day in these Enjoyments would I spend,
But chuse at Night my Bottle and my Friend,
Took prudent care that neither were abus'd,
But with due Moderation both I us'd.
And in one sober Pint found more delight,
Then the insatiate Sot that swills all Night;
Ne'er drown my Senses, or my Soul debase.
Or drink beyond the relish of my blass
For in Excess good Heav'ns design is Crost,
In all Extreams the true Enjoyments lost,
Wine chears the Heart, and elevates the Soul,
But if we surfeit with too large a Bowl,
Wanting true Aim we th' happy Mark o'er Shoot,
And change the Heavenly Image to a Brute.
So the great _Grecian_ who the World subdu'd,
And drown'd whole Nations in a Sea of Blood;
At last was Conquer'd by the Power of Wine,
And dy'd a Drunken Victime to the Vine.
My Friend, and I, when o'er our Bottle sat,