THE SAILOR's MEDLEY, SONG

Hail, Burgundy, thou juice divine! Inspirer of my song! The praises giv'n to other wine, To thee alone belong, Of poignant wit and rosy charms, Thou can'st the power improve; Care of its sting thy balm disarms, Thou noblest gift of Jove!

Bright Phoehus, on the parent-tines, From whence thy current streams, Sweet-smiling through the tendril shines, And lavish darts his beams. The pregnant grape receives his fires, And all his force retains; With that same warmth our brain inspires, And animates our strains.

From thee, my Chloe's radiant eye, New sparkling beams receives; Her cheeks imbibe a rosier dye; Her beauteous bosom heaves. Summon'd to love by thy alarms, Oh! with what nervous heat! Worthy the fair, we fill their arms, And oft our bliss repeat.

The Stoic, prone to thought intense, Thy softness can unbend; A cheerful gaiety dispense, And make him taste a friend. His brow grows clear, he feels content, Forgets his pensive strife; And then concludes his time well spent, In honest, social life.

E'en beaux, those soft amphibious things, Wrapt up in self and dress, Quite lost to the delight that springs, From sense, thy pow'r confess. The fop, with chitty maudlin sace, That dares but deeply drink, Forgets his cue and stiff grimace, Grows free, and seems to think.