Classic Poem

Thy Railing at my Drinking, pray, have done,
I'll hug thy Rival, (my dear Bottle) on;
To Sit up with it, let you Lie alone.
That Mistress gives us Joy, nay Wit, by You
And Love, but more a Sensless Sot I grow;
You forbid Solace, which in Wine I take,
Ungratefully, which me does often make
So bold in Love, to come to Bed to thee,
When my Sobriety had hinder'd me;
'Tis your Assistant, to make me your Cully,
As to the Chouse it helps the Cheating Bully;
It takes away my Sense, and Eye-sight too,
More Blind and Stupid makes me, but for you
To lead me by the Nose, as still you do:
Then why pray, shou'd you rail against your Friend?
Which me to your Bed does more often send,
Than I wou'd come, if that I Sober were,
Who then might have, less Love for thee, than Fear;
So Wine, to you sure, is not such a Foe,
I, but when gone in it, ne'r come to you;
Drinking forbid me, now, Fool! (if you dare)
Which takes from Lovers, Niceness, Fraud, and Fear;
You say, that it disables Men, for Love,
I sober, in thy Bed, an Eunuch prove;
But when, in Wine, I have forgotten thee,
A kind Remembrance may'st thou get of me;
Since, but the more that I cou'd see thee, sure,
I but the less to touch thee shou'd endure;
For thou, (my Nauseous Dear!) I needs must own,
Woud'st (if I saw thee) by me less be known;
Then, since Love ne'r yet made me blind for you,
Let Wine that Service better for you do;
Since no Man Sober e'er was gain'd by thee,
In Wine, thou't best a Favour rook from me:
So Gamesome Women shou'd like Gamesters do,
By Wine, make shy Men bolder Pusher's grow,
The more to give 'em, and spend on 'em too:
Then Rail no more at thy, or my Friend, Wine,
But for which I had never yet been thine;
Which made our Love, no Crime in me, or you,
By which, what we did, you, nor I did know;
Which gave us Pleasure, which was not our Shame,
Made your Love but my Fault, so, not your Blame;
Doubled our Joy, our Shame, Guilt, did prevent,
Made both without a Crime to Love, consent;
Taking from us, our Knowledge and our Sense,
Made us take Pleasure, but without Offence;
Since nothing, sure amiss, can either do,
Which can our Guilt, or others Scandal grow,
When what we do, we neither of us know:
At Drunkenness, ungratefully you rail'd,
Who, but for it, had of my Kindness fail'd;
So, that which proves the Hinderance of Love
In others, did to your Assistance prove;
For had I not had then, my Fill of Topeing,
I'th' dark, I had not, with thee, fall'n a Groping.