To Bacchus

I’m none of those- Oh Bacchus, blush!

That eat sour pickles with their beer,

To keep their brains and bellies cold;

Ashamed to let one laughing tear

Escape their hold.

For only just to smell your hops

Can make me fat and laugh all day

With appetite for bread and meat:

I’ll not despite bruised apples, they

Make cider sweet.

‘Tis true I only eat to live,

But how I live to drink is clear;

A little isle of meat and bread,

In one vast sea of foaming beer,

And I’m well fed.