The women all tell me I am…

The women all tell me I am false to my lass, That I quit my poor Chloe, and stick to my glass! But to you men of reason, my reason I'll own, And if you don't like 'em, why let them alone.

Altho' I have left her, the truth I'll declare, I believe she was good, and I am sure she was fair; But such goodness and charms in a bumper I see, That makes it as good and as charming as she.

My Chloe had dimples and smiles I must own; But tho' she could smile, yet in truth she could frown; But tell me, ye lovers of liquor divine, Did you e'er see a frown in a bumper of wine?

Her lilies and roses were just in their prime, But lilies and roses are conquer'd by time; But wine, from its age such a benefit flows, That I like it the better the older it grows.

They tell me in time that my love will be cloy'd. And that beauty is insipid when once 'tis enjoy'd; But in wine, I both time and enjoyment defy, For the longer I drink the more thirsty am I.

Perhaps like their sex ever false to their word, She had left me to get an estate or a lord: But my bottle regardless of titles or pelf, Will stand by me when I can't stand by myself.

She too might have poison'd the joys of my life With nurses and children, and squalling and strife: But my wine neither nurses nor babes can me bring, For a big-belly'd bottle's a mighty fine thing.

Then let my dear Chloe no longer complain: She's rid of her lover, and I of my pain; For in wine, mighty wine, many comforts I spy; Should you doubt what I say, take a bumper and try.