Page:Poems of Anne Countess of Winchilsea 1903.djvu/175

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 * The hott Græcian did misse,

Of whom History's keep such a pother,
 * To the bottom he sunk,
 * And when one he had drunk

Grew maudlin, and wept for another.

THE BARGAIN A Song in dialogue between Bacchus and Cupid Cupid Bacchus, to thee that turn'st the brain, And doest o're mighty punch bowls reign, Enthron'd upon thy lusty barrell, I drink, to drown the ancient quarrell; And mortalls shall no more dispute Which of us two, is absolute. Bacchus I pledge thee Archer, nor disdain To own thou over hearts doest reign, But tears thou drink'st, drawn from low courage, And cool'd with sighs, instead of burrage ; Were that errour once ammended, All, might in Champaine be ended.

Cupid I am content, so we may joyn, To mix my waters, with thy wine ; Then henceforth farwell all defying, And thus, we'll still be found complying, He, that's in love, shall fly to thee, And he thats drunk, shall reel to mee.