1

Leave off fond Hermite, leave thy vow,
And fall again to drinking
That beautie that wont sack allow,
Is hardly worth thy thinking,
Dry love or small can never hold,
And without Bacchus Venus soon grows cold

2

Doest think by turning Anchorite,
Or a dull small-Bear sinner,
Thy cold embraces can invite,
Or sprightless Courtship win her?
No, 'tis Canary that inspires,
'Tis Sack, like Oyle, gives Flames to am'rous Fiers.

3

This makes thee chant thy Mistresse name,
And to the heav'ns to raise her;
And range this universal frame
For Epithets to praise her.
Low liquours render brains unwitty,
And ne're provoke to love, but move to pity

4

Then be thy self, and take thy Glasse,
Leave off this dry Devotion,
Thou must like Neptune court thy lass,
Wallowing in Nectars Ocean,
Let's offer at each Ladies shrine,
A full crown'd bowl, first here's a health to thine.