The Topers

My friend and I, We drank gallon-pots Full of sack up to the brim: I drank to my friend, And he drank his pot, So we put about the whim: Three bottles and a quart We swallow'd down our throat, (But hang such puny sips as these,) We laid us all along, With our mouths unto the bung, And tipp'd whole hogsheads off with ease.

I heard of a sop That drank whole tankards, Stil'd himself the prince of sots; But I say now, hang Such silly drunkards, Melt their flaggons, break their pots. My friend and I did join, For a cellar full of wine, And we drank the vintner out of door; We drank it all up, In a morning at a sup, And greedily rov'd about for more.

My friend to me Did make this motion, Let us to the vintage skip: Then we embark'd Upon the ocean, Where we found a Spanish ship Deep laden with wine, Which was superfine, The sailors swore five hundred tun; We drank it all at sea, E'er we came unto the key, And the merchant swore he was quite undone.

My friend, not having Quench'd his thirst, Said, let's to the vineyards haste: Straight then we sail'd To the Canaries, Which afforded just a taste; From thence unto the Rhine, Where we drank up all the wine, Till Bacchus cry'd, hold, ye sots, or you die; And swore he never found, In his universal round, Such thirsty souls as my friend and I.

Out sie! cries one, What a beast he makes him, He can neither stand nor go! Out you beast, you, You're much mistaken, Whene'er knew you a beast drink so? 'Tis when we drink the least, That we drink most like a beast; But when we carouse it six in hand; 'Tis then and only then, That we drink the most like men, When we drink till we can neither go nor stand.