Classic Poem

Since last we met, thou and thy horse, my dear,
Have not so much as drunk or littered here.
I wonder, though thyself be thus deceased,
Thou hast the spite to coffin up thy beast;
Or is the palfrey sick, and his rough hide
With the penance of one spur mortified?
Or taught by thee (like Pythagoras's ox)
Is then his master grown more orthodox?
Whatever 'tis, a sober cause't must be
That thus long bars us of thy company.
The town believes thee lost, and didst thou see
But half her sufferings, now distressed for thee,
Thou'ldst swear (like Rome) her foul, polluted walls
Were sacked by Brennus and the savage Gauls.
Abominable face of things! here's noise
Of banged mortars, blue aprons, and boys,
Pigs, dogs, and drums, with the hoarse hellish notes
Of politically deaf usurers' throats,
With new fine Worships, and the old cast team
Of Justices vexed with the cough and phlegm. . .
Come! leave this sullen state, and let not wine
And precious wit lie dead for want of thine:
Shall the dull market landlord with his rout
Of sneaking tenants dirtily swill out
This harmless liquor, shall they knock and beat
For sack, only to talk of rye and wheat?
O let not such preposterous tippling be
In our metropolis! May I ne'er see
Such tavern sacrilege, nor lend a line
To weep the rapes and tragedy of wine!
Here lives that chimick, quick fire which betrays
Fresh spirits to the blood and warms our lays.
I have reserved against thy approach a cup
That, were thy muse stark dead, shall raise her up
And teach her yet more charming words and skill
Than ever Celia, Chloris, Astrophil
Or any of the threadbare names inspired
Poor rhyming lovers with a mistress fired.
Come then! and while the slow icicle hangs
At the stiff thatch, and winter's frosty pangs
Benumb the year, blithe (as of old) let us
'Midst noise and war, of peace and mirth discuss.
This portion thou wert born for: why should we
Vex at the times' ridiculous misery—
An age that thus hath fooled itself, and will
(Spite of thy teeth and mine) persist so still?
Let's sit then at this fire, and while we steal
A revel in the town let others seal,
Purchase or cheat, and who can, let them pay,
Till those black deeds bring on the darksome day.
Innocent spenders we! a better use
Shall wear out our short lease and leave th'obtuse
Rout to their husks. They and their bags at best
Have cares in earnest: we care for a jest.

Since last we met, thou and thy horse, my dear,
Have not so much as drunk or littered here.
I wonder, though thyself be thus deceased,
Thou hast the spite to coffin up thy beast;
Or is the palfrey sick, and his rough hide
With the penance of one spur mortified?
Or taught by thee (like Pythagoras's ox)
Is then his master grown more orthodox?
Whatever 'tis, a sober cause't must be
That thus long bars us of thy company.
The town believes thee lost, and didst thou see
But half her sufferings, now distressed for thee,
Thou'ldst swear (like Rome) her foul, polluted walls
Were sacked by Brennus and the savage Gauls.
Abominable face of things! here's noise
Of banged mortars, blue aprons, and boys,
Pigs, dogs, and drums, with the hoarse hellish notes
Of politically deaf usurers' throats,
With new fine Worships, and the old cast team
Of Justices vexed with the cough and phlegm. . .
Come! leave this sullen state, and let not wine
And precious wit lie dead for want of thine:
Shall the dull market landlord with his rout
Of sneaking tenants dirtily swill out
This harmless liquor, shall they knock and beat
For sack, only to talk of rye and wheat?
O let not such preposterous tippling be
In our metropolis! May I ne'er see
Such tavern sacrilege, nor lend a line
To weep the rapes and tragedy of wine!
Here lives that chimick, quick fire which betrays
Fresh spirits to the blood and warms our lays.
I have reserved against thy approach a cup
That, were thy muse stark dead, shall raise her up
And teach her yet more charming words and skill
Than ever Celia, Chloris, Astrophil
Or any of the threadbare names inspired
Poor rhyming lovers with a mistress fired.
Come then! and while the slow icicle hangs
At the stiff thatch, and winter's frosty pangs
Benumb the year, blithe (as of old) let us
'Midst noise and war, of peace and mirth discuss.
This portion thou wert born for: why should we
Vex at the times' ridiculous misery—
An age that thus hath fooled itself, and will
(Spite of thy teeth and mine) persist so still?
Let's sit then at this fire, and while we steal
A revel in the town let others seal,
Purchase or cheat, and who can, let them pay,
Till those black deeds bring on the darksome day.
Innocent spenders we! a better use
Shall wear out our short lease and leave th'obtuse
Rout to their husks. They and their bags at best
Have cares in earnest: we care for a jest.