A Rant

Wine, I feel thy rapt'ring power! Thine is all the present hour. Strong Delight tumultuous reigns, And throbs throughout my bursting veins. All my heart is open wide, Every bar is thrown aside. Prudence hence; it loaths to trace The features of thy simpering face, Thy sober-measur'd gait to spy, And leaden joy-forbidding eye. Prudence hence; thy laws I scorn, Thou of mean Deceit art born, By fly Hypocrisy begot; Noble Frankness heeds thee not. Yet though all my sallying soul Expatiates wide, and hates controul; Though my thoughts unbridled dare Forward fly in wild career; In their most impetuous course, Let me, Reason, own thy force: Though thou totter'st on thy throne, Let me call thee still my own; For so mad I would not be, As quite to lose the sight of thee.