Reason

WHAT the heart feels oppose to the phrases of schools,
Sweet Sympathies prove the Philosophers fools.
Can all the clasp'd volumes of learned mens feats,
Be equal to clasping one Beauty in sheets.

Go Instinct, call Reason, and hear what he'll say—
The cowardly Tyrant keeps out of the way.
Bolt the door then Desire, we'll bilk him at least,
He may pick up our Offals, and rail at the feast.

The union of Souls is a Task, words may try
But Lovers' Sensations, Description defy;
To them only known, who voluptuously prove
Affection's Enjoyment, the Phrenzy of Love.

But hark! who is that we hear hobbling up stairs?
It is Reason, quoth Fancy;—Oh is it! who cares?
He's welcome,—a chair there—I hope he'll sit down:
As he enter'd I smil'd, — he return'd me a frown.

My Lass was before me, my Bottle between;
In our looks we rejoic'd we just now were not seen;
But when Pleasure prompts, Reason always sneaks off;
When over, he bully-like, enters to huff.

Just like an old Watchman, the Goblin was drest,
Grey hairs, pole and lanthorn, broad belt, and long vest;
Young Fellow, quoth He, it is time you shou'd think;
Old Fellow, quoth Me, it is time you shou'd drink.

offer'd a Flask of Champaign, on my knee,
And begg'd, as my Doctor, he'd drink for his fee;
prais'd his wise seeming, — my praises prevail'd;
For Flattery's a nostrum which never yet fail'd.

With Praises, with Bumpers, I ply'd him so long,
That himself he forgot, and wou'd sing us a Song;
Aye and dance, nay a wench he wou'd have, and he swore;
But attempting to rise, he fell drunk on the floor.

As I order'd a Bed, says my love-looking Fair,
"As to Bed, my dear! Reason has no business there;
"The Senses their title to that Manor prove,
"Let Reason sleep on, while we waken to Love."

Reason is but a Bugbear, to scare girls and boys,
Wine and women, without him, Experience enjoys;
That we're worthy those Blessings, let Life's practice prove,
May we never want Reason for Drinking or Love.