Classic Poem

She tells me with claret she cannot agree,
And she thinks of a hogshead whene'er she sees me;
For I smell like a beast, and therefor must I
Resolve to forsake her or claret deny:
Must I leave my dear bottle that was always my friend,
And I hope will continue so to my life's end?
Must I leave it for her? 'tis a very hard task, —
Let her go to the Devil, bring the other whole flask!

Had she tax'd me with gaming and bade me forbear,
'Tis a thousand to one I had lent her an ear;
Had she found out my Chloris up three pairs of stairs,
I had baulk'd her and gone to St. James's to pray'rs;
Had she bid me read homilies three times a day,
She perhaps had been humour'd with little to say;
But at night to deny me my flask of dear red —
Let her go to the Devil, and there's no more to be said.