(Who sees them is undone)
For streaks of red were mingled there,
Such as are on a Katherine Peare,
The side that's next the Sun.)
Her lips were red, and one was thin
Compar'd to that was next her chin;
(Some Bee had stung it newly)
But (Dick) her eyes so guard her face,
I durst no more upon them gaze,
Then on the Sun in July.
Her mouth so small when she does speak, Thou'dst swear her teeth her words did break, That they might passage get,
But she so handled still the matter,
They came as good as ours, or better,
And are not spent a whit.
If wishing should be any sin
The Parson himself had guilty bin,
(She lookt that day so purely)
And did the youth so oft the feat
At night, as some did in conceit,
It would have spoil'd him surely.
Passion oh me! how I run on!
There's that that would be thought upon,
(I trow) besides the Bride,
The businesse of the Kitchin's great,
For it is fit that men should eat ;
Nor was it there deny'd.
Just in the nick the Cook knockt thrice,
And all the Waiters in a trice
His summons did obey,
Each Serving-man with dish in hand,
Marcht boldly up like our Train'd band,
Presented and away.
When all the meat was on the Table,
What man of knife, or teeth, was able
To stay to be intreated?
And this the very reason was
Before the Parson could say Grace,
The company was seated.
Now hats fly off, and youths carrouse;
Healths first go round, and then the house,
The Brides came thick and thick;
And when 'twas nam'd anothers health,
Perhaps he made it hers by stealth;
(And who could help it Dick ?)
O'th sudain up they rise and dance ;
Then sit again, and sigh, and glance:
Then dance again and kisse:
Thus sev'rall wayes the time did passe,
Whil'st ev'ry woman wisht her place,
And every man wisht his.
By this time all were stoln aside,
To councell and undresse the Bride;
But that he must not know:
But 'twas thought he guest her mind,
And did not mean to stay behind
Above an houre or so.
When in he came (Dick) there she lay
Like new-faln snow melting away,
('Twas time I trow to part)
Kisses were now the onely stay,
Which soon she gave, as who would say,
God B'w'y'! with all my heart.
But just as Heavens would have to crosse it, In came the Bride-maids with the posset : The Bridegroom eat in spight;
For had he left the women to't
It would have cost two houres to do't,
Which were too much that night.
At length the Candle's out, and now,
All that they had not done, they do;
What that is, who can tell?
But I beleeve it was no more
Then thou and I have done before
With Bridget, and with Nell.
When shall we meet again to have a tast
Of that transcendent Ale we drank of last?
What wild ingredient did the woman chose
To make her drink withal? it made me lose
My wit, before I quencht my thirst; there came
Such whimsies in my brain, and such a flame
Of fiery drunkennesse had sing'd my nose,
My beard shrunk in for fear; there were of those
That took me for a Comet, some afar
Distant remote, thought me a blazing star;
The earth me thought, just as it was, it went
Round in a wheeling course of merriment.
My head was ever drooping, and my nose
Offering to be a suiter to my toes.
My pock-hole face, they say, appear'd to some,
Just like a dry and burning Honey-comb :
My tongue did swim in Ale, and joy'd to boast
Itself a greater Sea-man than the toast.
My mouth was grown awry, as if it were
Lab'ring to reach the whisper in mine eare.
My guts were mines of sulphur, and my set
Of parched teeth, struck fire as they met.
Nay, when I pist, my Urine was so hot,
It burnt a hole quite through the Chamber-pot:
Each Brewer that I met, I kiss'd, and made
Suit to be bound apprentice to the Trade:
One did approve the motion, when he saw,
That my own legs could my Indentures draw.
Well, Sir, I grew stark mad, as you may see
By this adventure upon Poetry.
You easily may guesse, I am not quite
Grown sober yet, by these weak lines I write :
Onely I do't for this, to let you see,
Whos'ere paid for the Ale, I'm sur't paid me.
Listen all I pray,
To the words I have to say,
In memory sure insert um :
Rich Wines do us raise
To the honour of Bayes,
Quem non fecere disertum?
Of all the juice,
Which the Gods produce,
Sack shall be preferr'd before them;
'Tis Sack that shall
Create us all,
Mars, Bacchus, Apollo, virorum.
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