Ah! lead forth my flock in the morn,
And the damps of each ev'ning repel;
Alas! I am faint and forlorn:
-I have bade my dear Phillis farewel.
Since Phillis vouchfaf'd me a look,
I never once dreamt of my vine;
May I lose both my pipe and my crook,
If I knew of a kid that was mine:
I priz'd ev'ry hour that went by
Beyond all that had pleas'd me before; But now they are past, and I figh;
And I grieve that I priz'd them no more.
But why do I grieve thus in vain ?
Why wander thus penfively here?
Oh! why did I come from the plain,
Where I fed on the fmiles of fmy dear?
They tell me, my favourite maid,
The pride of that valley, is flown;
Alas! where with her I have ftray'd
I could wander with pleafure alone."
When forc'd the fair nymph to forego,
What anguish I felt in my heart!
Yet I thought-but it might not be fo
'Twas with pain that the faw me depart:
She gaz'd as I flowly withdrew;
My path I could hardly difcern:
So fweetly fhe bade me adieu,
I thought that the bade me return.
The pilgrim that journeys all day
To vifit fome far-distant shrine,
If he bears but a relique away,
Is happy, not heard to repine:
Thus widely remov'd from the fair,
Where my vows, my devotion, I owe,
Soft hope is the relique I bear,
And my folace where ever I go..
The TIPPLING PHILOSOPHERS,
IOGENES, furly and proud,
Who fnarl'd at the Macedon youth,
Delighted in wine that was good,
Because in good wine there was truth;
But, growing as poor as Job,
Unable to purchase a flask,
He chofe for his manfion a tub,
And liv'd by the fcent of the cask.
And liv'd by the fcent of the cask.
Heraclitus ne'er would deny
A bumper to cherish his heart,
And when he was maudlin would cry,
Because he had empty'd his quart:
Tho' fome are fo foolish to think,
He wept at men's follies and vice,
"Twas only his custom to drink
Till the liquor flow'd out of his eyes,
Till the liquor, &c.
Democritus always was glad
To tipple and cherish his foul;
Wou'd laugh like a man that was mad,
When over a full flowing bowl:
As long as his cellar was ftor'd,
The liquor he'd merrily quaff;
And, when he was drunk as a lord,
At those that were fober he'd laugh.
At thofe, &c.
Wife Solon, who carefully gave
Good laws unto Athens of old,
And thought the rich Cræfus a flave
(Tho' a king) to his coffers of gold;
He delighted in plentiful bowls;
But, drinking, much talk would decline;
Because it was the cuftom of fools
To prattle much over their wine.
To prattle, &c.
Old Socrates ne'er was content,
Till a bottle had heighten'd his joys,
Who in's cups to the oracle went,
Or he ne'er had been counted fo wife:
Late hours he moft certainly lov'd,
Made wine the delight of his life,
Or Xantippe would never have prov'd
Such a damnable fcold of a wife.
Such a damnable, &c.
Theophratus, that eloquent fage,
By Athens fo greatly ador'd,
With a bottle would boldly engage;
When mellow was brifk as a bird;
Would chat, tell a story, and jeft,
Moft pleasantly over a glafs,
And thought a dumb guest at a feast,
But a dull philofophical afs.
But, &c.
Grave Seneca, fam'd for his parts,
Who tutor❜d the bully of Rome,
Grew wife o'er his cups and his quarts,
Which he drank, like a mifer, at home;
And, to fhew he lov'd wine that was good.
To the laft (we may truly aver it)
He tinctur'd his bath with his blood,
So fancy'd he dy'd in his claret,
So fancy'd, &c.
Pythag'ras did filence enjoin
To his pupils, who wisdom would feek,
Because that he tippled good wine,
Till himfelf was unable to fpeak;
And when he was whimfical grown,..
With fipping his plentiful bowls,
By the ftrength of the juice in his crown
He conceiv'd tranfmigration of fouis..
He conceiv'd, &c,.
Copernicus too, like the reft,
Believ'd there was wifdom in wine,
And thought that a cup of the best,
Made reafon the brighter to fhine :
With wine he replenish'd his veins,,
And made his philofophy reel;
Then fancy'd the world, like his brains,.
Turn'd round, like a chariot wheel.
Turn'd, &c.
Anaxarchus, more patient than Job,
By peftles was pounded to death;
Yet fcorned that a groan or a fob,
Should waste the remains of his breath :
But sure he was free with his glafs,
And drank to a pitch of disdain,
Or the strength of his wifdom, alas!
I fear would have flinch'd from the pain.
I fear, &c.
Ariftotle, that master of arts,
Had been but a dunce without wine";
And what we afcribe to his
parts,
Is due to the juice of the vine:
His belly, moft writers agree,
Was as big as a watering trough;
He therefore leap'd into the fea,
Because he'd have liquor enough.
Because, &c.
When Phyrro had taken a glass,
He faw that no object appeared Exactly the fame as it was,
Before he had liquor'd his beard;
For things running round in his drink,
Which, fober, he motionless found,
Occafion'd the fceptick to think
There was nothing of truth to be found.
There was, c.
Old Plato was reckon❜d divine;
He fondly to wisdom was prone :
But had it not been for good wine,
His merits had never been known:
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