The THIRSTING LOVER

My temples with clusters of grapes I'll entwin And barter all joys for a goblet of wine; In search of a Venus no longer I'll run, But stop and forget her at Bacchus's tun.

Yet why this resolve to relinquish the fair? 'Tis a solly for spirits like mine to despair; For what mighty charms can be found in a glass, If not fill'd to the health of some favourite lass?

'Tis women whose charms ev'ry rapture impart, And lend a new spring to the charms of the heart: The miser himself (so supreme is her sway) Grows a convert to love, and returns her the key.

At the sound of her voice, sorrow lifts up her head, And poverty listens. quite pleas'd from her shade; While age, in an extacy, hobling along, Beats time with her crutch, at the tune of her song.

Then bring me a goblet from Bacchus's hoard, The largest and deepest that stands on the board; I'll fill up a brimmer, and drink to the fair, 'Tis the toast of a lover, and pledge me who dare?