I. THOU por'st on Helvicus, and studiest in vain, How many years pass'd betwixt King and King's reign, To make an old woman ev'n twitter for joy At an eighty-eight story, or the scuffle at Troy: But where the good wine, and best fire is When the cruel North-wind does blow, And the trees do penance in snow; Where the poet's delight and desire is, Thou, pitiful book-worm, ne'er troublest thy brain. II. Come, drawer, some claret, we'll drown this new Moon. More candles t' improve this dull night into noon: Let the healths, let the house, and the glasses turn round, But no tears, except those of the tankard, abound. Come! here's a good health to the Muses, Three brimmers to the three times three, And one to each grace let there be; The triple-skull'd dog bite him that refuses. III. Let's be mad as March-hares, call the minstrels and singers, Strike up there! -- kick that rogue -- he has chilblains on's fingers, Let that whoreson our neighbour, on his bags that lies thinking, Bear a part in the storm, but not the calm of our drinking. Come! bring us a wench, or two, prithee; Thou Telephus look'st pretty fair, And hast a good thick head of hair, Fetch him Chloe, she's buxom, and loves to trade with thee; Call Glycera to me, for I am one of her swingers. |