Volume 5 — Bacchus turn’d Doctor. The Words by Ben. Johnson.

[Listen]

LET Soldiers fight for Pay and Praise, And Money be Misers wish; Poor Scholars study all their Days, And Gluttons glory in their Dish: ’Tis Wine, pure Wine, revives sad Souls, Therefore give us chearing Bowls. Let Minions marshal in their Hair, And in a Lover’s lock delight; And artificial Colours wear, We have the Native Red and White. ’Tis Wine, &c. Your Pheasant, Pout, and Culver Salmon, And how to please your Palates think: Give us a salt Westphalia-Gammon, Not Meat to eat, but Meat to drink. ’Tis Wine, &c. It makes the backward Spirits brave, That lively, that before was dull; Those grow good Fellows that are grave, And kindness flows from Cups brim full, ’Tis Wine, &c. Some have the Ptysick, some the Rhume, Some have the Palsie, some the Gout; Some swell with Fat, and some consume, But they are sound that drink all out. ’Tis Wine, &c. Some Men want Youth, and some want Health, Some want a Wife, and some a Punk; Some Men want Wit, and some want Wealth, But he wants nothing that is drunk. ’Tis Wine, pure Wine, revives sad Souls, Therefore give us chearing Bowls.