







 
   
     
       
         Bacchus conculcatus, or, Sober reflections upon drinking an essay / by Philander Antiphiloinos ...
         Antiphiloinos, Philander.
      
       
         
           1691
        
      
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         106594
         
           
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             Bacchus conculcatus, or, Sober reflections upon drinking an essay / by Philander Antiphiloinos ...
             Antiphiloinos, Philander.
          
           7 p.
           
             [s,n,],
             [London] printed ;
             MDCXCI [1691].
          
           
             In verse.
             Imperfect: pages cropped with loss of print.
             Reproduction of original in the IU.
          
        
      
    
     
       
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         eng
      
       
         
           Temperance -- Poetry.
        
      
    
     
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           Bacchus
           Conculcatus
           ,
           OR
           ,
           SOBER
           REFLECTIONS
           UPON
           DRINKING
           .
           AN
           ESSAY
           .
        
         
           —
           Pudet
           haec
           opprobria
           nobis
           ,
        
         
           Et
           dici
           potuisse
           :
           Et
           non
           potuisse
           refelli
           .
        
         
           By
           
             Philander
             Antiphiloinos
          
           ,
           A
           Probationer
           ,
        
         
           Printed
           in
           the
           Year
           MDCXCI
        
      
       
         
         
           THE
           DEDICATION
           ,
           TO
           ALL
           THE
           WORLD
           ,
        
         
           
             Parve
             ,
             nec
             invideo
             ,
             sine
             me
             Liber
             ibis
             in
             Orbem
             ;
          
           
             Ah!
             Tecum
             Domino
             non
             vacat
             ire
             Tuo
             .
          
        
         
           My
           little
           Book
           into
           the
           World
           I
           send
           Thee
           ;
        
         
           Oh!
           I
           'm
           not
           alwayes
           present
           to
           defend
           Thee
           ,
        
         
           Yet
           Generous
           Souls
           will
           Thee
           ,
           and
           Me
           Protect
           ,
        
         
           Against
           what
           Mome
           ,
           or
           Zoïl
           dares
           Object
           .
        
      
    
     
       
         
         
           BACCHUS
           CONCULCATUS
           ,
           OR
           SOBER
           REFLECTIONS
           UPON
           DRINKING
           .
        
         
           
             ROUSE
             ,
             Rouse
             ,
             my
             Soul
             ,
             mind
             somewhat
             more
             Divine
             ,
          
           
             Then
             Souce
             thy self
             in
             Liquors
             ne're
             so
             fine
             .
          
           
             Sure
             ,
             these
             were
             not
             the
             Steps
             Romes
             Founder
             Trode
          
           
             When
             he
             design'd
             Above
             to
             make
             Abode
             .
          
           
             The
             Stars
             ,
             sure
             ,
             have
             not
             Damn'd
             Thee
             to
             this
             Fate
             ▪
          
           
             A
             Fate
             more
             Cruel
             then
             the
             Damned's
             State
             ,
          
           
             If
             any
             such
             could
             be
             —
          
           
             'T
             was
             never
             Love
             to
             Liquor
             did
             incline
          
           
             Thy
             easie
             Heart
             to
             Temporize
             in
             Wine
             .
          
           
             Thy
             Nature
             hates
             it
             ,
             what
             's
             the
             Motive
             then
             ?
          
           
             Thou
             may'st
             pretend
             ,
             It
             was
             to
             please
             some
             Men
             :
          
           
             Thus
             the
             first
             Glass
             doth
             gently
             over
             Glyde
             ,
          
           
             And
             after
             it
             ,
             the
             other
             on
             does
             slyde
             .
          
           
             The
             Frollick
             once
             begun
             ,
             the
             Brain
             once
             Fir'd
             ,
          
           
             〈…〉
             is
             most
             Desir'd
             ▪
          
           
           
             The
             Heart
             thus
             Warm'd
             ,
             the
             Nature
             's
             changed
             quite
             ,
          
           
             Quite
             other
             things
             the
             Fancy
             does
             endite
             .
          
           
             When
             Fancy's
             mounted
             on
             a
             Drunken
             Throne
             ,
          
           
             He
             will
             be
             Caesar
             ,
             or
             He
             will
             be
             none
             .
          
           
             His
             dissipated
             Thoughts
             range
             here
             and
             there
             ,
          
           
             
               All
               Paramount
            
             ,
             Builds
             Castles
             in
             the
             Air.
          
           
             He
             Talks
             of
             Mighty
             Things
             then
             from
             his
             Friends
             ,
          
           
             And
             direful
             Vengeance
             to
             his
             Foes
             intends
             .
          
           
             No
             Loyalist
             to
             him
             ,
             Though
             void
             of
             Reason
             ;
          
           
             But
             by
             ,
             and
             by
             ,
             He
             stumbles
             into
             Treason
             .
          
           
             For
             Pro
             ,
             and
             Con
             ,
             in
             all
             points
             he
             'll
             Dispute
          
           
             Till
             Foyl'd
             ,
             and
             Laught
             at
             ,
             forced
             to
             Sing
             mute
             .
          
           
             No
             Talk
             but
             Fill
             the
             Glasses
             ,
             Fill
             ,
             Fill
             ,
             Fill
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             Health
             is
             this
             ?
             In
             Brimmers
             let
             us
             Swill
             ,
          
           
             We
             'll
             Kiss
             ,
             we
             'll
             Kick
             ,
             we
             'll
             Bounce
             ,
             we
             'll
             Damn
             ,
             and
             Swagger
             ,
          
           
             We
             'll
             Ramble
             ,
             though
             we
             scarcely
             well
             can
             Stagger
             .
          
           
             As
             Frenticks
             act
             a
             thousand
             Antick
             tricks
             ,
          
           
             Till
             some
             Brisk
             Squire
             on
             point
             of
             Honour
             Sticks
             :
          
           
             And
             then
             the
             merry
             Meeting
             of
             the
             Barrel
             ,
          
           
             Dissolves
             into
             a
             Dirty
             Drunken
             Quarrel
             .
          
           
             Or
             else
             the
             Stomach
             ,
             wiser
             then
             her
             Owner
             ,
          
           
             Turns
             Nauseous
             ,
             and
             Revocks
             least
             he
             should
             Drown
             her
             ,
          
           
             And
             after
             this
             ,
             if
             any
             Sense
             remains
          
           
             Within
             the
             half
             Confounded
             witless
             Brains
          
           
             Falls
             to
             't
             again
             ,
             And
             the
             whole
             Scene
             Renews
             ,
          
           
             Till
             forc'd
             to
             Shrink
             away
             ,
             and
             once
             more
             Spews
             ;
          
           
             To
             Drink
             another
             Glass
             not
             being
             able
             ,
          
           
             He
             Slingers
             Home
             as
             Ship
             Sans
             Sail
             or
             Cable
             ,
          
           
           
             If
             not
             Supported
             ,
             Catches
             frequent
             Falls
             ,
          
           
             Not
             able
             to
             get
             up
             ,
             on
             All
             Four
             Crawls
             .
          
           
             Loses
             a
             Hat
             ,
             and
             Spoils
             a
             Silken
             Suite
             ,
          
           
             Disjoynts
             an
             Arm
             ,
             or
             breaks
             a
             Leg
             to
             boot
             .
          
           
             At
             last
             at
             Home
             arrives
             our
             Squire
             ,
             and
             then
          
           
             If
             he
             have
             as
             much
             Sense
             ,
             Cryes
             who
             's
             there
             Ben
             ?
          
           
             Then
             enters
             Stagg'ring
             ,
             Huffs
             ,
             and
             Domineers
             ,
          
           
             Hectors
             ,
             Bravadoes
             ,
             Curses
             ,
             Damns
             ,
             and
             Swears
             :
          
           
             Ripps
             up
             old
             Sores
             ,
             long
             Acted
             ,
             and
             Forgot
             .
          
           
             And
             at
             his
             Nod
             all
             present
             they
             must
             Trot.
          
           
             Thus
             he
             continues
             till
             his
             Eyes
             grow
             Dim
             ,
          
           
             Off
             with
             his
             Cloaths
             ;
             That
             Night
             no
             more
             of
             him
             .
          
           
             Sometimes
             his
             Worship
             is
             so
             very
             Struit
             ,
          
           
             Benumm'd
             he
             enters
             ,
             and
             continues
             Mute
             ,
          
           
             Creeps
             into
             Bed
             on
             Hands
             ,
             and
             Feet
             ,
             and
             must
          
           
             With
             his
             Dis-robing
             one
             or
             other
             Trust
             ;
          
           
             And
             having
             lay'd
             his
             Head
             upon
             the
             Cod
             ▪
          
           
             Somnus
             Arreists
             him
             with
             a
             Drowsy
             Nod
             ▪
          
           
             Thus
             Lyes
             out
             Prince
             ,
             and
             his
             Chimera
             Glory
          
           
             And
             for
             that
             time
             ,
             There
             's
             no
             more
             of
             the
             Story
          
           
             Till
             in
             the
             Night
             ,
             awakn'd
             by
             a
             Drowth
             ,
          
           
             Cryes
             ,
             where
             's
             the
             Stoup
             ?
             and
             sets
             it
             to
             his
             Mouth
             ,
          
           
             His
             Gumms
             Cool'd
             ,
             and
             Burnt
             Liver
             Quench'd
             ,
             a
             main
             :
          
           
             He
             layes
             him
             down
             ,
             and
             falls
             to
             Sleep
             again
             .
          
           
             Thus
             Sleeps
             ,
             and
             Slumbers
             on
             ,
             till
             in
             a
             Fright
             .
          
           
             He
             does
             Awake
             ,
             Scar'd
             by
             the
             Morning
             Light.
          
           
             Takes
             th'
             other
             Drink
             ,
             Lyes
             down
             ;
             But
             Sleep's
             his
             Toil.
          
           
             From
             Side
             to
             Side
             ,
             He
             does
             himself
             Turmoil
             .
          
           
           
             Sloutching
             he
             Lyes
             ,
             but
             finds
             no
             solid
             Rest
             .
          
           
             To
             Rise
             ,
             or
             Ly
             ,
             He
             knows
             not
             which
             is
             best
             ,
          
           
             With
             various
             Thoughts
             his
             Soul
             is
             so
             Opprest
             .
          
           
             Slighted
             Affairs
             ,
             Stareing
             upon
             him
             Cryes
             ,
          
           
             He
             must
             get
             up
             ;
             though
             scarce
             has
             Pow'r
             to
             Rise
             .
          
           
             His
             Burning
             Veins
             Tormenting
             ev'ry
             Part
             ,
          
           
             An
             Acheing-Head
             ,
             a
             Sick
             and
             Squeemish
             Heart
             ▪
          
           
             At
             last
             disperst
             the
             Fumes
             of
             last
             Nights
             Drinking
             .
          
           
             In
             Soberness
             ,
             He
             falls
             to
             Sober
             Thinking
             :
          
           
             When
             He
             begins
             with
             Horrour
             to
             look
             back
             .
          
           
             On
             each
             Extravagant
             ,
             Mad
             Word
             and
             Act
             ;
          
           
             His
             Soul
             then
             Sinks
             ,
             without
             Hopes
             of
             Relief
             ,
          
           
             Dissolv'd
             into
             a
             Sable
             Swoon
             of
             Grief
             .
          
           
             His
             Rueful
             Thoughts
             puts
             him
             on
             Rack
             ,
             anon
          
           
             His
             Heart
             is
             melted
             in
             a
             Fainting
             Groan
             .
          
           
             He
             the
             Remembrance
             hates
             of
             Follies
             past
             ,
          
           
             And
             in
             Oblivion
             would
             them
             gladly
             cast
             :
          
           
             But
             All
             's
             in
             vain
             ;
             perforce
             he
             must
             Remember
          
           
             Those
             things
             at
             which
             he
             Trembles
             in
             each
             Member
             .
          
           
             At
             last
             Recov'red
             ,
             thus
             he
             Ruminates
          
           
             And
             with
             himself
             He
             thus
             Expostulates
             .
          
        
         
           
             Can
             all
             my
             Drunken
             Frollicks
             ,
             Mirth
             ,
             and
             Joy
          
           
             Ballance
             what
             now
             does
             my
             poor
             Soul
             Annoy
             ?
          
           
             Nay
             ,
             though
             extended
             to
             Eternity
             ,
          
           
             This
             very
             Moment
             should
             them
             all
             outweigh
             ▪
          
           
             Besides
             ,
             I
             find
             strong
             Drink
             doth
             Mock
             ,
             and
             Wine
          
           
             Doth
             Counteract
             Me
             in
             my
             best
             Design
             ;
          
           
           
             By
             Excess
             I
             have
             lost
             my
             Dearest
             Friends
             ▪
          
           
             And
             Disoblidg'd
             them
             ,
             without
             Hopes
             of
             mends
             .
          
           
             My
             wounded
             Reputation
             Bleeding
             Lyes
             ,
          
           
             My
             Blasted
             Credit
             by
             this
             Folly
             Dyes
             .
          
           
             To
             all
             the
             World
             ,
             I
             'm
             made
             a
             Laughing
             Stock
             ,
          
           
             And
             Look'd
             upon
             ,
             but
             as
             a
             Drunken
             Block
             .
          
           
             And
             as
             the
             Fools
             Heart
             fails
             Him
             in
             the
             Way
          
           
             By
             this
             My
             hidden
             Weaknes
             I
             Bewray
          
           
             Without
             all
             Courage
             ,
             Conduct
             ,
             or
             an
             Heart
             ,
          
           
             Losing
             my
             Time
             ,
             can
             no
             wayes
             Act
             my
             Part.
          
           
             Impaired
             Health
             Death
             Ush'ring
             in
             too
             fast
             :
          
           
             A
             Mould'ring
             Fortune
             Negligence
             doth
             Blast
             .
          
           
             I
             have
             in
             needless
             ,
             horrid
             Hazards
             Run
          
           
             Precipitant
             ;
             not
             having
             Sense
             to
             shun
             .
          
           
             I
             've
             spoke
             what
             I
             with
             Horrour
             call
             to
             Mind
             ,
          
           
             Asham'd
             to
             own
             ,
             that
             e're
             I
             such
             Design'd
             .
          
           
             Religions
             Scandal
             ;
             Piety
             Disgrac'd
             :
          
           
             Offence
             to
             God
             ;
             His
             Image
             quite
             Defac'd
             .
          
        
         
           
             Of
             Drinking
             th'
             Bad
             Concomitants
             surmount
          
           
             All
             that
             the
             greatest
             Penman
             can
             Recount
             .
          
        
         
           
             Then
             let
             Me
             all
             the
             World
             pardon
             Crave
             .
          
           
             I
             'le
             hence
             for
             no
             Man
             ,
             be
             to
             Drink
             a
             Slave
             .
          
        
         
           
             Almighty
             Jah
             !
             Grant
             that
             I
             stedfast
             Stand
          
           
             In
             this
             Resolve
             ,
             Obeying
             thy
             Command
             .
          
        
      
    
     
  

