The Mistake. 1665

PArdon, great Bacchus, I repent!
The Error has its punishment:
Poor Travellers are cheated so,
That come where Sodom Apples grow.
This change of mine has his disgrace,
Who did, for Iuno, Clouds imbrace.
Nor is the distance lesser here;
Immortal Sack, and Mortal Beer!
So did the crazed Hebrew fail,
Deserting God, to go to Baal.
Your Spanish Donna has a touch
More charming than the thick-skin'd Dutch.
One thus a Beauty thought to wed,
But got a Gypsie to his Bed:
Beer has that tann'd and yellow hew,
Like hers that did the Liquor brew.
When Sack's Complexion is refin'd;
As though it were with Sun-beams lin'd.