"When I visit proud Celia, just come from my glass, She tells me I'm flustered and look like an ass; When I mean of my passion to put her in mind, She bids me leave drinking, or she'll never be kind. That she's charmingly handsome, I very well know; And so is my bottle, each brimmer so too; And to leave my soul's joys, oh! 'tis nonsense to ask, Let her go to the Devil, bring t'other full flask." "Had she bade me read homilies three times a day, She perhaps had been humoured with little to say. But at night to deny me my flask of dear red, Let her go to the Devil, there's no more to be said." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VARIATIONS: 15 by CONRAD AIKEN A MATCH by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE THE QUIET WAYS by MAXWELL STRUTHERS BURT SAD MEMORIES by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY SHABBY OLD DAD by ANNE CAMPBELL SONG: CONQUEST BY FLIGHT by THOMAS CAREW TO A SWALLOW BUILDING UNDER THE EAVES [AT CRAIGENPUTTOCK] by JANE WELSH CARLYLE |