Classic Poem

I

The Day is sett did Earth adorne,
To drink the Brewing of the Mayne,
And, hot with travell, will ere Morne
Carouse itt to an ebbe again,

Then lett us drinke, Time to improve,
Secure of Cromwell and his spies,
Night will conceale our healths, and Love
For all her thousand thousand eyes. Cho.:

Then let us drinke secure of spies
To Phaebus, and his second rise.

II

Without the Eveninge dew, and show'rs,
The Earth would be a barren place,
Of Trees, and Plants, of Herbs, and Flow'rs,
To crown her new enamell'd Face;

Nor can Witt springe, or Fancies grow,
Unlesse wee dew our heads in wine,
Plump Autumn's welthy overflow,
And sprightfull issue of the vine. Cho.:

Then let us drinke secure of spies
To Phaebus, and his second rise.

III

Wine is the cure of cares, and sloth,
That rust the Mettall of the Mind,
The Juce, that Man to Man does both
In Freedom, and in Freindship bind.

This cleares the Monarch's clowdy browes,
And cheares the Hearts of Sullen Swains,
To wearied souls repose allows,
And makes slaves caper in their chaynes. Cho.:

Then let us drinke secure of spies
To Phaebus, and his second rise.

IV

Wine, that distributes to each Part
Its heat and Motion, is the spring,
The Poet's head, the Subject's heart,
'Twas wine made ould Anacreon sing.

Then let us quaff it, whilst the Night
Serves but to hide such guiltie soules,
As fly the buty of the Light;
Or dare not pledge our Loyall Bowles. Cho.:

Then let us revell, quaffe and sing,
Health, and his Septer to the King.