E SONG XXIV. VERY man take a glass in his hand, May his laurels for ever fresh spring: With their parties look big: 'Tis not owning a whimfical name 'Tis this that proves him an honest soul, No confufion create; Here's a health to all honeft men. When a company's honeftly met, Their drooping spirits to whet, And drown the fatigues of the day; What madness is it thus to difpute, When neither fide can his man confute? When you've faid what you dare, You're but just where you were, Here's a health to all honeft men. Then agree, ye true Britons, agree, That an Englishman's always the fame; Who's a tory or whig: Here's a health to all honeft men. SONG Xxy. BY TOM BROW N. Wakes us frolic and gay, wine in a morning That like eagles we foar, In the pride of the day; "Tis the fun ripes the grape, When by noon we're at height; Boy, fill all the glasses, Fill them up now he shines ; The higher he rifes The more he refines, For wine and wit fall As their maker declines. SONG H SONG XXVI. AD Neptune, when first he took charge of the sea, Been as wife, or at least been as merry as we, He'd have thought better on't, and, instead of his brine, Would have fill'd the vaft ocean with generous wine. What trafficking then would have been on the main The hot thirsty fun then would drive with more haste, And when he'd got tipfy would have taken his nap By the force of his rays, and thus heated with wine, How happy us mortals when blefs'd with fuch rain, What mirth and contentment in every ones brow, The ftars, who I think don't to drinking incline, Had this been the cafe, what had we then enjoy'd, SONG XXVII. FROM AN ACREON. BY ABRAHAM COWLEY ESQ. HE thirsty earth drinks up the rain, The plants fet in the earth, they are The fea itself, which, one would think, The bufy fun (and one would guess They drink and dance by their own light, I Fill up the bowl, boys, fill it high; SONG XXVIII. BY ARTHUR DAWSON ESQ.* E good fellows all, YE Who love to be told where there's claret good store, Attend to the call Of one who's ne'er frighted, But greatly delighted, With fix bottles more: Be fure you don't pafs The good houfe Money Glafs, Which the jolly red god fo peculiarly owns ; 'Twill well fuit your humour, For pray what would you more, Than mirth, with good claret, and bumpers, 'squire Jones. Ye lovers who pine For laffes that oft prove as cruel as fair, Who whimper and whine For lilies and roses, With eyes, lips, and nofs, Or tip of an ear: Come hither, I'll show you How Phillis and Chloe No more fhall occafion fuch fighs and fuch groans; As not to quit Cupid, When call'd by good claret, and bumpers, 'squire Jones. * Third baron of the Exchequer in Ireland. Who is faid to have tranflated it from one of the compofitions of Carolan, a celebrated modern Irish bard. Ye |