Whiskey

 

Whiskey, thou blessed heaven in the brain,

O that the belly should revolt,

To make a hell of afterpain,

And prove thy virtue was a fault!

 

Did, ever poet seek his bed

With a sweet phrase upon his lips

Smiling-as I laid down my head,

Pleased after sundry whiskey sips?

 

I pitied all the world: alas

That no poor nobodies came near,

To give to them my shirt and shoes,

And bid them be of goodly cheer.

 

A blessed heaven was in the brain;

But ere came morn the belly turned

And kicked up hell's delight in pain-

This tongue went dry, this throat it burned.

 

Oh dear! Oh dear! to think last night

The merriest man on earth was I,

And that I should awake this morn,

To cough and groan, to heave and sigh!