Vini vis

HEERE Bacchus winged, midst his cups doth sit,
With Mercuries Caduceus in his hand,
As God of wine no more, but God of wit,
And Eloquence, which he hath at commaund,
(Since he hath drawne, his bowles and bottles drie,)
Wherewith he seemes, to mount aboue the skie.

For when his liquor hath possess'd the braine,
The foole himselfe, the wisest thinkes to be,
And then so giues his lavish tongue the raine,
You'ld sweare ye heard another Mercurie,
For lies of Ladies loues, or travailes farre,
His birth, his woundes, or service in the warre.