The Delights of the bottle, or, The town-galants declaration for women and wine being a description of a town-bred gentleman with all his intregues, pleasure, company, humor, and conversation ... : to a most admirable new tune, every where much in request.
      
       
         
           1675
        
      
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             The Delights of the bottle, or, The town-galants declaration for women and wine being a description of a town-bred gentleman with all his intregues, pleasure, company, humor, and conversation ... : to a most admirable new tune, every where much in request.
             Shadwell, Thomas, 1642?-1692.
          
           1 sheet ([1] p.) : 2 ill.
           
             Printed for P. Brooksby, and R. Burton, and are to be sold at their shops ...,
             [London] :
             [1675]
          
           
             "The first two stanzas were written originally by Thomas Shadwell for his opera Psyche, in 1675"--NUC pre-1956.
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             Reproduction of original in Bodleian Library.
          
        
      
    
     
       
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         eng
      
       
         
           Drinking songs -- Texts.
           Broadsides -- England -- 17th century.
        
      
    
     
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           The
           Delights
           of
           the
           Bottle
           .
           OR
           ,
           The
           town-Galants
           Declaration
           for
           Women
           and
           Wine
           .
           Being
           a
           Description
           of
           a
           Town-bred-Gentleman
           ,
           with
           all
           his
           Intregues
           ,
           Pleasure
           ,
           Company
           ,
           Humor
           ,
           and
           Conversation
           .
        
         
           
             
               Gallants
               from
               faults
               he
               can
               
                 not
              
               be
               exempt
               ,
            
             
               Who
               doth
               a
               task
               so
               difficult
               attempt
               ;
            
             
               I
               know
               I
               shall
               not
               ,
               hit
               your
               features
               right
               ,
            
             
               'T
               is
               hard
               to
               imitate
               in
               black
               and
               white
               .
            
          
           
             
               Some
               Lines
               were
               drawn
               by
               a
               more
               skilful
               hand
               ,
            
             
               And
               which
               they
               were
               you
               'l
               quickly
               understand
               ;
            
             
               Excuse
               me
               therefore
               if
               I
               do
               you
               wrong
               ,
            
             
               I
               did
               but
               make
               a
               Ballad
               of
               a
               Song
               .
            
          
        
         
           To
           a
           most
           Admirable
           New
           Tune
           ,
           every
           where
           much
           in
           request
           .
        
         
           
             
          
           
             
          
           
             
               THe
               Delights
               of
               the
               Bottle
               ,
               &
               charms
               of
               good
               wine
               ,
            
             
               To
               the
               pow'r
               &
               the
               pleasures
               of
               love
               must
               resign
               ,
            
             
               Though
               the
               night
               in
               the
               joys
               of
               good
               drinking
               be
               past
               ,
            
             
               The
               debauches
               but
               still
               the
               next
               morning
               doth
               last
               ;
            
             
               But
               loves
               great
               debauch
               is
               more
               lasting
               and
               strong
               ,
            
             
               For
               that
               often
               lasts
               a
               man
               all
               his
               life
               long
               .
            
             
               Love
               ,
               and
               Wine
               ,
               are
               the
               bonds
               that
               fasten
               us
               all
               ,
            
             
               The
               world
               ,
               but
               for
               this
               ,
               to
               confusion
               would
               fall
               ;
            
             
               Were
               it
               not
               for
               the
               pleasures
               of
               love
               and
               good
               wine
               ,
            
             
               Man-kind
               ,
               for
               each
               trifle
               ,
               their
               lives
               would
               resign
               ;
            
             
               they
               'd
               not
               value
               dull
               life
               ,
               or
               wou'd
               live
               without
               thinking
            
             
               Nor
               Kings
               rule
               the
               world
               ,
               but
               for
               love
               &
               good
               drinking
               .
            
             
               For
               the
               Drave
               ,
               and
               the
               Dull
               ,
               by
               sobriety
               curs'd
               ,
            
             
               that
               would
               ne'r
               take
               a
               glass
               ,
               but
               for
               quenching
               his
               thirst
            
             
               
                 He
              
               that
               once
               in
               a
               Month
               takes
               a
               touch
               of
               the
               
                 Smock
              
               ,
            
             
               And
               poor
               Nature
               up-holds
               with
               a
               bit
               and
               a
               knock
            
             
               What-ever
               the
               ignorant
               Rabble
               may
               say
               ,
            
             
               Tho'
               he
               breaths
               till
               a
               hundred
               ,
               he
               lives
               but
               a
               day
               .
            
             
               Let
               the
               Puritan
               preach
               against
               wenches
               ,
               and
               drink
               ,
            
             
               He
               may
               prate
               out
               his
               Lungs
               ,
               but
               I
               know
               what
               I
               think
               ;
            
             
               When
               the
               Lecture
               is
               done
               ,
               he
               'l
               a
               Sister
               entice
               ;
            
             
               Not
               a
               Letcher
               in
               Town
               can
               Out-do
               him
               at
               Uice
               ;
            
             
               Tho'
               beneath
               his
               Religion
               ,
               he
               stifles
               his
               joys
               ,
            
             
               And
               becomes
               a
               Debauch
               without
               clamour
               or
               noise
               .
            
             
               'Twixt
               the
               Uices
               of
               both
               ,
               little
               difference
               lyes
               ,
            
             
               But
               that
               one
               is
               more
               open
               ,
               the
               other
               precize
               :
            
             
               Though
               he
               drinks
               like
               a
               chick
               ,
               with
               his
               eye-balls
               lift
               up
               ,
            
             
               Yet
               I
               'le
               warrant
               thee
               boy
               ,
               he
               shall
               take
               off
               his
               cup
               :
            
             
               His
               Religious
               debauch
               ,
               does
               the
               gallants
               out-match
               ,
            
             
               For
               a
               Saint
               is
               his
               Wench
               ,
               and
               a
               Psalm
               is
               ;
               his
               Catch
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
             The
             Second
             Part
             ,
          
           
             To
             the
             same
             Tune
             .
          
           
             
               FOr
               the
               Lady
               of
               Uertue
               ,
               &
               Honour
               so
               strict
               ,
            
             
               That
               who
               offers
               her
               Guinneys
               deserves
               to
               be
               kick'd
            
             
               Who
               with
               sport
               by
               her self
               ,
               doth
               her
               fancy
               beguile
               ,
            
             
               That
               's
               asham'd
               of
               a
               jest
               ,
               and
               afraid
               of
               a
               smile
               ;
            
             
               May
               she
               lye
               by
               her self
               ,
               till
               she
               wear
               out
               the
               stairs
               ,
            
             
               Going
               down
               to
               her
               Dinner
               ,
               and
               up
               to
               her
               Prayers
               .
            
             
               But
               let
               us
               that
               have
               Noble
               and
               generous
               souls
               ,
            
             
               No
               method
               observe
               ,
               but
               in
               filling
               our
               bowls
               ;
            
             
               Let
               us
               frolick
               it
               round
               ,
               to
               replenish
               our
               veins
               ,
            
             
               And
               with
               notions
               divine
               ,
               to
               enspire
               our
               brains
               ,
            
             
               'T
               is
               a
               way
               that
               's
               Gentile
               ,
               and
               is
               found
               to
               be
               good
               ,
            
             
               Both
               to
               quicken
               the
               Wit
               ,
               and
               enliven
               the
               blood
               .
            
             
               What
               a
               pleasure
               it
               is
               to
               see
               bottles
               before
               us
               ,
            
             
               With
               the
               women
               among
               us
               to
               make
               up
               the
               Chorus
               ?
            
             
               Now
               a
               Iest
               ,
               now
               a
               Catch
               ,
               now
               a
               Buss
               ,
               now
               a
               Health
               ,
            
             
               Till
               our
               pleasure
               comes
               on
               by
               insensible
               stealth
               ,
            
             
               And
               when
               grown
               to
               a
               height
               ,
               with
               our
               Girls
               we
               retire
               ,
            
             
               By
               a
               brisker
               enjoyment
               ,
               to
               slacken
               the
               fire
               .
            
             
               And
               this
               is
               the
               way
               that
               the
               wiser
               do
               take
               ,
            
             
               A
               perpetual
               motion
               in
               pleasure
               to
               make
               :
            
             
               With
               a
               flood
               of
               Obrian
               ,
               we
               fill
               up
               each
               vein
               ,
            
             
               All
               the
               Spirits
               of
               which
               lov's
               Atimbeck
               must
               drain
               ;
            
             
               While
               the
               soberer
               Sot
               ,
               has
               no
               motion
               of
               blood
               ,
            
             
               For
               his
               fancy
               is
               nothing
               but
               Puddle
               and
               Mud.
            
             
               He
               's
               a
               slave
               to
               his
               soul
               ,
               who
               in
               spight
               of
               his
               sense
               ,
            
             
               With
               a
               Clog
               of
               his
               own
               putting
               on
               can
               dispence
               ,
            
             
               For
               he
               Fetters
               himself
               ,
               when
               at
               large
               he
               might
               rove
               ,
            
             
               So
               he
               's
               ty'd
               from
               the
               sweets
               of
               good
               drinking
               and
               love
               ,
            
             
               Yet
               he
               's
               satisfied
               well
               ,
               that
               he
               's
               thought
               to
               be
               wise
               ,
            
             
               By
               the
               dull
               and
               the
               foolish
               ;
               I
               mean
               the
               precise
               .
            
             
               For
               my
               part
               whatever
               the
               consequence
               be
               ,
            
             
               To
               my
               will
               and
               my
               fancy
               ,
               I
               le
               always
               be
               free
               ,
            
             
               They
               are
               mad
               that
               do
               wilfully
               run
               upon
               shelves
               ,
            
             
               Since
               dangers
               ,
               and
               troubles
               ,
               will
               come
               of
               themselves
               ;
            
             
               For
               whoever
               desireth
               to
               live
               like
               a
               man
               ,
            
             
               He
               must
               be
               without
               trouble
               ,
               as
               long
               as
               he
               can
               .
            
             
               And
               these
               are
               the
               pleasures
               true
               Gallants
               do
               find
               ,
            
             
               To
               which
               if
               you
               are
               not
               ,
               you
               should
               be
               enclin'd
               ,
            
             
               If
               you
               follow
               my
               counsel
               ,
               you
               take
               off
               the
               curse
               ,
            
             
               And
               if
               you
               do
               not
               ,
               we
               are
               never
               the
               worse
               ;
            
             
               Yet
               none
               will
               refuse
               ,
               but
               a
               Begger
               or
               Cit
               ,
            
             
               Who
               to
               car'on
               the
               humour
               ,
               wants
               Money
               or
               Wit.
               
            
          
        
         
           FINIS
           .
        
      
    
     
       
         
           Printed
           for
           P.
           Brook
           by
           ,
           and
           R.
           Burton
           ,
           and
           are
           to
           be
           sold
           at
           their
           shops
           in
           West-smith-field
           .