On Water-Gruel, by Desire; occasioned by a singular Adventure.

Hail! Water-Gruel, ever sacred Name,
Once so propitious to my genial Flame;
O! be the Day distinguish'd thro' the Year,
That Day for ever shall my Soul revere;
When thy transcendent Power stood confest,
And eas'd the Torture of my raging Breast;
Delicious Liquor! of a Stock Divine!
For ever honour'd be thy grateful Shrine:
Bow, Sons of Bacchus! bow, no more adore,
Your frantic God, but own superior Pow'r;
No more the Ivy round your Temples twine,
No more extol the Joys of madning Wine;
The Juice of Tuscan Grape in vain ye boast,
In vain the Produce of Iberia's Coast;
In vain fam'd Gallia's Burgundy, Champagne;
Tokay, Moselle, the Rhine ye boast in vain;
Nor that blest Spot where Phoebus lenient smiles,
Canaria happy 'mid the happiest Isles;
Nor fair Madeira; nor rich Afric's Coast;
Nor Cyprus, nor the Eastern World can boast,
Beverage so rich: Not e'en so rich that Draught
Wherein the Wealth of Provinces was quaft;
Which Cleopatra mixing fondly gave,
To clasp the World in Anthony the brave.
Hail! Water-Gruel, ever sacred Name,
Be still propitious to my genial Flame:
Thou e'en the Nectar of the Gods outvies,
Which Hebe serves, and Ganimede supplies;
When thro' the Courts of Heav'n they gaily rove,
In Masquerade, and toast the Health of Jove:
Mistaken Bards! no more attempt to sing,
The Joys that flow from the Pierian Spring;
And O! ye Sisters fair, ye tuneful Nine!
Taste, taste ye Liquor more than that Divine;
Salubrious Draught! to Physic deadly Foe!
Parent of ev'ry temp'rate Good below!
O! had thy Virtue Alexander try'd,
Thy Suit, fair Thais, then had been deny'd;
He would not, hadst thou cool'd the heated Brain,
Have fir'd Persepolis, or his Clitus slain:
O! had you tasted of the Love-fraught Bowl,
Amanda sipt-'twas then my raptur'd Soul
In Ecstasy was lost, then ev'ry Sense
Feasted on Joys Love could alone dispense:
With me then Water-Gruel you would raise,
'Bove loftiest Themes, and win the Laureat Bays.