The Badge of Good-fellowship. 1677

KInd Bacchus does requitals send
For all that we Good-fellows spend;
No Merchants in their Indian trade,
Richer returns than we have made:
Tho Pearls for Beads of Glass are sold,
And Iron purchase finest Gold.
True! we spend Mony; where's the loss?
All Coin is but authentick dross.
The Stamp prefers it, and base need
Does all its estimation breed.
How many years are vainly spent,
Riches to get, and lose content?
In gaining it, the Day's lost quite;
And in preserving it, the Night.
Judge now what profit may be made
Out of the jolly-drinking trade.
What tho the Purse its trash has lost?
The Nose with Rubies is imbost,
For blood that such rich Bubbles swells,
Is Kernel to those shining shells,
Whose lustre takes a deeper dye,
As the good-fellow drinks more high.
And yet the Rubies are but pale,
Whose base extraction is from Ale.
How can the Liver brew what's good,
(That Mash-fat of the boiling blood)
When dregs of Ale pollute the Veins?
As th' blood were tapt off from the Grains.
But when we those rich Rubies make,
With drinking Claret, Tent, or Sack;
They take their bigness, colour, shape,
Fro' th' Clusters of the Scarlet Grape.
Good-fellows hence, by drinking get
That boasted thing call'd Chimick-heat.
Which, from the Body, forces out
The blood to th' Nose (the Limbeck-spout)
Those drops condens'd by the cold Air,
Advance to Rubies, and fix there.
The Rocks that are in Ormus found,
Only in pretious Gemms abound;
But barren on their tops appear.
As if their heart-bloods wasted were;
And blood of Rocks those Rubies are.
He who for Tyrian-purple seeks,
May find it in Good-fellows Cheeks.
The grain of Sarra's only there;
And Bow-dies first invented were
From some old Brewer, who liv'd there.
Canary so refines the Skin,
The blood's transparent from within.
That modest blush which Virgins boast,
Had long since from the World been lost;
But for strong-liquor and a Toast.
Nay, which is more—Physicians prove,
That—Sanguin temper which all love,
Some Red-nos'd Drinker rais'd the Breed,
Transfusing't to his happy Seed.
Sack makes not only ruby'd Noses,
But in our Cheeks plants Beds of Roses:
For as the heav'nly dew, first drops
Upon the Rose-Trees pregnant tops;
Feeding them with prolifick blood,
Untill they belly to a Bud:
Phoebus his Midwifry then shows,
And in green Mantles layes the Rose.
The Iuice so of the lusty Grape,
On Madam Temperance acts a Rape;
Swelling our Cheeks with seeds of Roses,
Which Bacchus's heat to th' World discloses;
In those hot Beds they'l freshly last,
In spite of Frost, or Winters blast.
Then let Red-Noses henceforth be
No subjects for vain Drollery.
'Tis sawcy here our Wits to try;
Scarlet's the badgs of Majesty.
Kings buy their pomp; when Drinkers have
Their Shop, and in themselves are brave.
Roses in Iune are only blown?
Good-Fellows theirs all th' year are shown.
A Virgins blush is rul'd by th' Moon;
Their Tides soon flow, and ebb as soon:
When as Good-Fellows never shrink
Till Death; that is, till they want drink.
Its virtues are not half told yet;
It heightens Valour, quickens wit;
The Heart is cheerd, Friendship increast;
No care, but for some harmless Iest.
Then let's not leave it, tho some scold,
Because phanatical, or old:
Let such grave Fops inslave their will
He who made these, will drink on still.