I.

At my best Friend, my Bottle, cease to rail,
Your sparkling Rival, my cheap, safe Delight,
For you, with me, will never sure prevail,
To quit a warm Friend, for a cold one, quite;
Since that gives Joy by Day, Peace, Rest, by Night;

II.

Whilst you disturb my Sense, Rest, Peace, destroy,
With Love, my Heart, Sense, Freedom, from me take;
And make me sad, that gives me Heart, and Joy,
And me, as 'twere, a Brave, or Wit does make,
When I, more Sottish Love, leave for its sake;

III.

'Tis thou so, dost make more a Sot of me,
And make my Love for thee, but more my Shame;
By that I'm made, more Brisk, Bold, Witty, Free,
By thee, more Silent, Sensless, and more Tame;
So more a Sot, for leaving Wine, I am;

IV.

Since Love gives me more Care, Fear, Jealousie,
To make my Pleasure grow but more my Pain;
Makes me do Follies too, more soberly,
By which more Guilt we have, more Censure gain;
Whilst Wine the Heart does cheer, inspire the Brain;

V.

So, since our Life's Ease, and true Happiness,
But less in our Sense, than our Senses lie;
And since our Thoughts our Cares, and Fears increase,
Who Thinks least, Lives best, so most reas'nably;
Whose Sense, as least, yields most Tranquillity.