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Parch thirsty human veins, the damask'd meads,
Unforc’d, display ten thousand painted flowers
Useful in potables. Thy little sons
Permit to range the pastures : gladly they
Will mow the Cowslip-posies, faintly sweet,
From whence thou artificial wines shalt drain
Of icy taste, that, in mid fervours, best
Slack craving thirst, and mitigate the day.

Happy Tërne *, whose most wholesome air
Poisons envenom'd spiders, and forbids
The baleful toad, and viper, from her shore !
More happy in her balmy draughts, enrich'd
With'miscellaneous spices, and the root,
(For thirst-abating sweetness prais’d) which wide
Extend her fame, and to each drooping heart
Present redress, and lively health convey.

See, how the Belgæ, sedulous and stout, With bowls of fattening Mum, or blissful cups Of kernel-relish'd fluids, the fair star Of early Phosphorus salute, at noon Jocund with frequent-rising fumes ! by use Instructed, thus to quell their native phlegm Prevailing, and engender wayward mirth.

What need to treat of distant climes, remov'd Far from the sloping journey of the year, Beyond Petsora, and Islandic coasts ? Where ever-during snows, perpetual shades Of darkness, would congeal their livid blood, Did not the Arctic tract spontaneous yield A cheering purple berry, big with wine,

* Ireland.

Intensely fervent, which each hour they crave,
Spread round a flaming pile of pines, and oft
They interlard their native drinks with choice
Of strongest Brandy, yet scarce with these aids
Enabled to prevent the sudden rot
Of freezing nose, and quick-decaying feet.

Nor less the sable borderers of Nile,
Nor they who Taprobane manure, nor they,
Whom sunny Bornio bears, are stor’d with streams
Egregious, Rum, and Rice's spirit extract.
For here, expos’d to perpendicular rays,
In vain they covet shades, and Thracia's gales,
Pining with equinoctial heat, unless
The cordial glass perpetual motion keep,
Quick eircuiting; nor dare they close their eyes,
Void of a bulky charger near their lips,
With which, in often interrupted sleep,
Their frying blood compels to irrigate
Their dry-furr'd tongues, else minutely to death
Obnoxious, dismal death, th’ effect of drought !

More happy they, born in Columbus' world, Carybbes, and they, whom the Cotton plant With downy-sprouting vests arrays! their woods Bow with prodigious nuts, that give at once Celestial food, and nectar; then, at hand The Lemon, uncorrupt with voyage long, To vinous spirits added (heavenly drink !) They with pneumatic engine ceaseless draw, Intent on laughter; a continual tide Flows from th' exhilarating fount. As, when Against a secret cliff, with sudden shock A ship is dash'd, and leaking drinks the sea,

Th' astonish'd mariners aye ply the pump,
Nor stay, nor rest, till the wide breach is clos'd :
So they (but cheerful) unfatigued, still move
The draining sucker then alone concern’d
When the dry bowl forbids their pleasing work.

But if to hoarding thou art bent, thy hopes
Are frustrate, should'st thou think thy pipes will flow
With early limpid wine.' The hoarded store,
And the harsh draught, must twice endure the Sun's
Kind strengthening heat, twice Winter's purging

cold. There

are,

that a compounded fluid drain From different mixtures, Woodcock, Pippin, Moyle, Rough Eliot, sweet Permain: the blended streams (Each mutually correcting each) create A pleasurable medley, of what taste Hardly distinguish'd ; as the showery arch, With listed colours gay, ore, azure, gules, Delights and puzzles the beholder's eye, That views the wat'ry brede, with thousand shows Of painture vary'd, yet 's unskill'd to tell Or where one colour rises, or one faints.

Some Ciders have by art, or age, unlearn'd Their genuine relish, and of sundry vinos Assum'd the flavour; one sort counterfeits The Spanish product; this, to Gauls has seem'd The sparkling Nectar of Champaigne ; with that, A German oft has swill'd his throat, and sworn, Deluded, that imperial Rhine bestow'd The generous rummer, whilst the owner, pleas’d, Laughs inly at his guests, thus entertain’d With foreign vintage from his cider cask.

Soon as thy liquor from the narrow cells
Of closc-prest husks is freed, thou must refrain
Thy thirsty, soul ; let none persuade to broach
Thy thick, unwholesome, undigested cades :
The hoary frosts, and northern blasts, take care
Thy muddy beverage to serene, and drive
Precipitant the baser, ropy lees.

And now thy wine's transpicuous, purg'd from all
Its earthy gross, yet let it feed awhile
On the fat refuse, lest, too soon disjoin'd,
From sprightly, it to sharp or vapid change.
When to convenient vigour it attains,
Suffice it to provide a brazen tube
Inflext; self-taught, and voluntary, flies
The defecated liquor, through the vent
Ascending, then by downward tract convey'd,
Spouts into subject vessels, lovely clear.
As when a noontide sun, with summer beams,
Darts through a cloud, her wat’ry skirts are edg'd
With lucid amber, or undrossy gold:
So, and so richly, the purg'd liquid shines.

Now also, when the colds abate, nor yet
Full summer shines, a dubious season, close
In glass thy purer streams, and let them gain,
From due confinement, spirit, and flavour new.

For this intent, the subtle chymist feeds
Perpetual flames, whose unresisted force,
O’er sand, and ashes, and the stubborn flint
Prevailing, turns into a fusil sea,
That in his furnace bubbles sunny-red :
From hence a glowing drop with hollow'd steel
He takes, and by one efficacious breath

Dilates to a surprising cube, or sphere,
Or oval, and fit receptacles forms
For every liquid, with his plastic lungs,
To human life subservient; by his means
Ciders in metal frail improve: the Moyle,
And tasteful Pippin, in a moon's short year,
Acquire complete perfection : now they smoke
Transparent, sparkling in each drop, delight
Of curious palate, by fair virgins crav'd.
But harsher fluids different lengths of time
Expect: thy flask will slowly mitigate
The Eliot's roughness. Stirom, firmest fruit,
Embottled (long as Priæmian Troy
Withstood the Greeks) endures, ere justly mild.
Soften'd by age, it youthful vigour gains.
Fallacious drink! ye honest men, beware,
Nor trust its smoothness; the third circling glass
Suffices virtue : but may hypocrites,
(That slyly speak one thing, another think,
Hateful as Hell) pleas'd with the relish weak,
Drink on unwarn’d, till by enchanting cups
Infatuate, they their wily thoughts disclose,
And through intemperance grow awhile sincere.

'The farmer's toil is done ; his cades mature
Now call for vent; his lands exhaust permit
T'indulge awhile. Now solemn rites he pays
To Bacchus, author of heart-cheering mirth.
His honest friends, at thirsty hour of dusk,
Come uninvited; he with bounteous hand
Imparts his smoking vintage, sweet reward
Of his own industry; the well-fraught bowl
Circles incessant, whilst the humble cell

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