Ode V: Drink

WHen Wine has fum'd into my head,
My busie Senses all lie dead,
And melancholy Megrims sink
Into the Ocean of my Drink:
This Whirl-pool swallows them all up;
And at the bottom of my Cup
I meet with all the Gods can give,
To make a Mortal happy live.
I never covet to be great,
Nor envy Croesus his Estate.
Like Bacchanal, I dance and sing,
And scorn the Title of a King:
I make a Foot-ball of a Crown,
Kick glorious Diadems up and down.
I versifie Extempore,
And all my Speech is Poetrie.
So that with reason I may think
I'm made of Poetry, Love, and Drink.
Let other men fall out, and fight
For true or for pretended Right,
To Arms, to Arms; I never care:
A Bottle's all the Arms I bear.
Serve only under Cupid's Banner,
Till made a Lord of Venus Mannour.
But now I think on't, I am told,
That now my youthful Bloud grows cold:
Be wise, Anacreon, as thou'rt old.
That Fate has ey'd me several years,
Resolv'd to pay off all Arrears:
One foot is in the Grave, and Death
Would fain suck out my fragrant breath:
But I'll prevent him, and will lie
Dead drunk o'th' spot before I die;
And by this pretty Countermine
Baffle the Cannibal's Design.