You know that our ancient philosophers hold

You know that our ancient philosophers hold, There is nothing in beauty, or honour, on gold; That bliss in externals no mortal can find, And in truth, my good friends, I am quite of their mind.

What makes a man happy, I never can doult: 'Tis something within him, and nothing without: This something, they said, was the source of content: And whate'er they call'd it, 'twas wine that they meant.

Without us, indeed, it is not worth a pin; But, ye gods! how divine once we get it within; 'Tis then, of all blessings, the flourishing root; And, in 'spite of the world, we can gather the fruit.

When the bottle is wanting the soul is deprest, And beauty can kindle no slame in the breast; But with wine in our hearts we are always in love, As gav as the linnet, and fond as the dove.

The richest and greatest are poor and repine, If with gold and with grandeur you give them no wine; But wine to the peasant or slave if you bring, He's as rich as a Jew, and as great as a king.

With wine at my heart, I am happy and free; Externals without in are nothing to me: Come fill, and this truth from a bumper you'll know, That wine is the greatest of blessings below.