Water

OUR Chorus to Bacchus, to Bacchus we'll raise,
Long Corks be my Garland instead of the Bays;
With Burgundy's Blessings my Temples anoint,
And toast the first Toper who drank a Half-pint.

My Song is to Bacchus, the God of the Vine,
The Engineer Artist to spring Beauty's Mine;
Without him Wit pines, and Love languidly fades,
Cold Water has kept the Nine Muses old Maids.

Quoth Temperance, WATER's the med'cine of health,
And Water, quoth Prudence, will win a man wealth;
Tho' odd it may seem, as the story's not long,
Once Water help'd Bacchus, and thus says the Song.

"It was when his Harvest rejoic'd the parch'd Earth,
"Beneath the first Vine, Love on Wit begot Mirth;
"Yet Hate rais'd some Rebels who broke from his sway,
"And, drunk with his bounty, deny'd to obey.

"He harness'd his Tygers, he marshall'd his force,
"Silenus was Sutler, Lord Pan led the Horse;
"The Ganges they cross'd, came in front of the Foe,
"And struck them all dead, without striking a blow.

"'Twas Pan did the feat, cast them into a fright,
"He crept, like a Fox, thro' their camp in the night;
"All the Wine he drew off, while these Ignorants snor'd,
"And into the Bottles foul Ditch Water pour'd.

Each Rebel, next morn, rais'd the Flask to his head,
But chill'd the first gulp, in an ague-fit fled;
Fled, trembling, from Monarch to meanest Mechanic,
From hence came the Phrase, to put Men in a Paninic.