Two Gentlemen That Broke Their Promise
There is no faith in claret, and it shall
Henceforth with me be held apocryphal.
I'll trust a small-beer promise, nay, a troth
Washed in the Thames, before a French wine oath.
That grape, they say, is binding; yes, 'tis so,
And it has made your souls thus costive too.
Circe transformed the Greeks; no hard design,
For some can do as much with claret wine
Upon themselves; witness you two, allowed
Once honest, now turned air, and à la mode.
Begin no health in this, or if by chance
The King's 'twill question your allegiance;
And men will, after all your ruffling, say
You drink as some do fight, in the French way:
Engage and trouble many, when 'tis known
You spread their interest to wave your own.
Away with this false Christian: it shall be
An excommunicate from mirth, and me;
Give me the Catholic diviner flame,
To light me to the fair Odelia's name;
'Tis sack that justifies both man and verse,
Whilst you in Lethe-claret still converse.
Forget your own names next; and when you look
With hope to find, be lost in the church-book.
poem by James Shirley
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Related quotes
A Tumbler Of Claret
I poured out a tumbler of Claret,
Of course with intention to drink,
And, holding it up in the sunlight,
I paused for a moment to think.
I really can't tell you what made me;
I never had done so before,
Though for years, every day at my dinner,
I had emptied one tumbler or more.
'A friend' in the loneliest hours,
'A companion,' I called the red wine,
And sometimes I poetized slightly,
And called it a 'nectar divine.'
But to-day as I gazed at the claret,
That sparkled and glowed in the sun,
I asked it, 'What have you done for me,
That any true friend would have done?
'You have given me some pleasant feelings,
But they always were followed by pain.
You have given me ten thousand headaches,
And are ready to do it again.
You have set my blood leaping and bounding,
Which, though pleasant, was hurtful, no doubt,
And, if I keep up the acquaintance,
I am sure you will give me the gout.
'I remember a certain occasion,
When you caused me to act like a fool.
And, yes, I remember another
When you made me fall into a pool.
And there was Tom Smithers-you killed him!
Will Howard you made a poor knave.
Both my friends! and I might count a
dozen
You have sent to the prison or grave.
'Is this like a loyal friend's treatment?
And are you deserving the name?
Say! what do you give those who love you
But poverty, sorrow, and shame?
A few paltry moments of pleasure,
And ages of trouble and grief.
No wonder you blush in the sunlight,
You robber, you liar, you thief!
'I will have nothing more to do with you,
From this moment, this hour, this day.
To send you adrift, bag and baggage,
I know is the only safe way.'
And I poured out that tumbler of claret,
Poured it
out
, and not
down
, on the spot.
And all this you see was accomplished,
By a few sober moments of thought.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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The Dead Host's Welcome
It is late and cold; stir up the fire;
Sit close, and draw the table nigher;
Be merry, and drink wine that's old,
A hearty medicine 'gainst a cold:
Your beds of wanton down the best,
Where you shall tumble to your rest;
I could wish you wenches too,
But I am dead, and cannot do.
Call for the best the house may ring,
Sack, white, and claret, let them bring,
And drink apace, while breath you have;
You'll find but cold drink in the grave:
Plover, partridge, for your dinner,
And a capon for the sinner,
You shall find ready when you're up,
And your horse shall have his sup:
Welcome, welcome, shall fly round,
And I shall smile, though under ground.
poem by John Fletcher
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Burgundy for kings, champagne for duchesses, claret for gentlemen.
Grape, Grape Joy
I am a small and lonely grape,
Clutching to the vine,
Waiting for the day when Ill become my saviors wine!
Oh, wouldnt french cuisine just yearn it,
Ive eternity to ferment,
But knowing me Id end up ripple
In a cellar of cheblis.
Are you a small and lonely grape
Clutching to the vine,
Waiting for the day when youll become your saviors wine?
Dont give up hope ye heavy laden,
You dont want to be a raisin;
Theres a grape grape joy in jesus,
In the vineyard of the lord.
song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Alcoholic Albatross
Brothers, what are we to think
When we muse upon strong drink?
Is it bad or is it good?
Is it poison or is it food?
Albatrosses, so say some,
Find great benefit in rum,
And, in gratitude for nips,
Bring fair winds to troubled ships.
Others say the cocktail shaker
Is a noted trouble maker;
And declare that men stir up
Woe in every claret-cup.
But, so far as I'm concerned,
I may say I've never learned
Whether alcohol, in place,
Benefits the human race.
Take your choice. If you should think
Drink is good, why, have a drink;
But, if you are at a loss,
Give it to some albatross.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Careless Good Fellow
1 A pox of this fooling, and plotting of late,
2 What a pother, and stir has it kept in the state?
3 Let the rabble run mad with suspicions, and fears,
4 Let them scuffle, and jar, till they go by the ears:
5 Their grievances never shall trouble my pate,
6 So I can enjoy my dear bottle at quiet.
7 What coxcombs were those, who would barter their ease
8 And their necks for a toy, a thin wafer and mass?
9 At old Tyburn they never had needed to swing,
10 Had they been but true subjects to drink, and their king;
11 A friend, and a bottle is all my design;
12 He has no room for treason, that's top-full of wine.
13 I mind not the members and makers of laws,
14 Let them sit or prorogue, as his majesty please:
15 Let them damn us to woollen, I'll never repine
16 At my lodging, when dead, so alive I have wine:
17 Yet oft in my drink I can hardly forbear
18 To curse them for making my claret so dear.
19 I mind not grave asses, who idly debate
20 About right and succession, the trifles of state;
21 We've a good king already: and he deserves laughter
22 That will trouble his head with who shall come after:
23 Come, here's to his health, and I wish he may be
24 As free from all care, and all trouble, as we.
25 What care I how leagues with the Hollander go?
26 Or intrigues betwixt Sidney, and Monsieur D'Avaux?
27 What concerns it my drinking, if Cassel be sold,
28 If the conqueror take it by storming, or gold?
29 Good Bordeaux alone is the place that I mind,
30 And when the fleet's coming, I pray for a wind.
31 The bully of France, that aspires to renown
32 By dull cutting of throats, and vent'ring his own;
33 Let him fight and be damn'd, and make matches and treat,
34 To afford the news-mongers, and coffee-house chat:
35 He's but a brave wretch, while I am more free,
36 More safe, and a thousand times happier than he.
37 Come he, or the Pope, or the Devil to boot,
38 Or come faggot, and stake; I care not a groat;
39 Never think that in Smithfield I porters will heat:
40 No, I swear, Mr. Fox, pray excuse me for that.
41 I'll drink in defiance of gibbet, and halter,
42 This is the profession, that never will alter.
poem by John Oldham
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To Live Merrily,and To Trust To Good Verses
Now is the time for mirth;
Nor cheek or tongue be dumb;
For with [the] flowery earth
The golden pomp is come.
The golden pomp is come;
For now each tree does wear,
Made of her pap and gum,
Rich beads of amber here.
Now reigns the Rose, and now
Th' Arabian dew besmears
My uncontrolled brow,
And my retorted hairs.
Homer, this health to thee!
In sack of such a kind,
That it would make thee see,
Though thou wert ne'er so blind
Next, Virgil I'll call forth,
To pledge this second health
In wine, whose each cup's worth
An Indian commonwealth.
A goblet next I'll drink
To Ovid; and suppose
Made he the pledge, he'd think
The world had all one nose.
Then this immensive cup
Of aromatic wine,
Catullus! I quaff up
To that terse muse of thine.
Wild I am now with heat:
O Bacchus! cool thy rays;
Or frantic I shall eat
Thy Thyrse, and bite the Bays!
Round, round, the roof does run;
And being ravish'd thus,
Come, I will drink a tun
To my Propertius.
Now, to Tibullus next,
This flood I drink to thee;
--But stay, I see a text,
That this presents to me.
Behold! Tibullus lies
Here burnt, whose small return
Of ashes scarce suffice
To fill a little urn.
Trust to good verses then;
They only will aspire,
When pyramids, as men,
Are lost i' th' funeral fire.
And when all bodies meet
In Lethe to be drown'd;
Then only numbers sweet
With endless life are crown'd.
poem by Robert Herrick
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Live Merrily, And To Trust To Good Verses
Now is the time for mirth,
Nor cheek or tongue be dumb;
For with the flow'ry earth
The golden pomp is come.
The golden pomp is come;
For now each tree does wear,
Made of her pap and gum,
Rich beads of amber here.
Now reigns the rose, and now
Th' Arabian dew besmears
My uncontrolled brow
And my retorted hairs.
Homer, this health to thee,
In sack of such a kind
That it would make thee see
Though thou wert ne'er so blind.
Next, Virgil I'll call forth
To pledge this second health
In wine, whose each cup's worth
An Indian commonwealth.
A goblet next I'll drink
To Ovid, and suppose,
Made he the pledge, he'd think
The world had all one nose.
Then this immensive cup
Of aromatic wine,
Catullus, I quaff up
To that terse muse of thine.
Wild I am now with heat;
O Bacchus! cool thy rays!
Or frantic, I shall eat
Thy thyrse, and bite the bays.
Round, round the roof does run;
And being ravish'd thus,
Come, I will drink a tun
To my Propertius.
Now, to Tibullus, next,
This flood I drink to thee;
But stay, I see a text
That this presents to me.
Behold, Tibullus lies
Here burnt, whose small return
Of ashes scarce suffice
To fill a little urn.
Trust to good verses then;
They only will aspire,
When pyramids, as men,
Are lost i' th' funeral fire.
And when all bodies meet,
In Lethe to be drown'd,
Then only numbers sweet
With endless life are crown'd.
poem by Robert Herrick
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Picassos Last Words
The grand old painter died last night
His paintings on the wall
Before he went he bade us well
And said goodnight to us all.
Drink to me, drink to my health
You know I cant drink any more
Drink to me, drink to my health
You know I cant drink any more
3 oclock in the morning
Im getting ready for bed
It came without a warning
But Ill be waiting for you baby
Ill be waiting for you there
So drink to me drink to my health
You know I cant drink any more
Drink to me drink to my health
You know I cant drink any more
French interlude
Temp change
Jet... drink to me
Drunken chorus
French (tempo) drink to me... ho hey ho
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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He talked with more claret than clarity.
quote by Susan Ertz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Tommies lot
While general's drink their claret wine
In taverns far behind the lines
The English Tommy spills another wine
On Flanders table made from mothers pride
In front of guns in faltered stride
The sweet wine of youth seeps away
Dragging dreams of tomorrows men
Into broken hearts to be remembered by she.
A vintage lost to you and me
And, when autumns harvest came
The Tommy was the crop,
The Somme and Verdun is where life was stopped
And when winter froze the ground
The Tommy slept with reaper sound
Content to die with enemies damned
Caressed by yesterday's ghosts in this Flanders land
When loved ones sent letters from home
The Tommy bore silent pain alone
For tears are for lovers and kisses for wives
Now replaced by the tears of loss
And boys too young to find love
Their first kiss that of the bullet
For they were not too young to die
Though "mother" was often their last dying cry
Now the guns are silent
And the fields are green
The marble cross the epitaph to nightmares dream
In death the axis and Allies are equal
In life we failed to stop the sequel,
So remember that cross and remember these lads
Remember the wives and remember the dads
Rest in peace our brave Tommy lads.
poem by Steven Cooke
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Mr. Francis Beaumont's Letter to Ben Jonson
The sun, which doth the greatest comfort bring
To absent friends (because the self-same thing
They know they see, however absent), is
Here our best hay-maker (forgive me this,
It is our country style); in this warm shine
I lie, and dream of your full Mermaid wine.
Oh, we have water mixed with claret-lees,
Drink apt to bring in drier heresies
Than beer, good only for the sonnet strain,
With fustian metaphors to stuff the brain;
So mixed that given to the thirstiest one
'Twill not prove alms unless he have the stone.
I think with one draught man's invention fades,
Two cups had quite marred Homer's Iliads ;
'Tis liquor that will find out Sutcliffe's wit,
Lie where it will, and make him write worse yet.
Filled with such moisture, in a grievous qualm,
Did Robert Wisdom write his singing psalm ;
And so must I do this, and yet I think
It is a potion sent us down to drink
By special providence, keeps us from fights,
Makes us not laugh when we make legs to knights ;
'Tis this that keeps our minds fit for our states,
A med'cine to obey our magistrates.
For we do live more free than you ; no hate,
No envy of another's happy state
Moves us, we are all equal, every whit ;
Of land, that God gives men here, is their wit,
If we consider fully, for our best
And gravest man will, with his main house-jest,
Scarce please you ; we want subtlety to do
The city tricks—lie, hate, and flatter too.
Here are none that can bear a painted show,
Strike when you wink, and then lament the blow,
Who, like mills set the right way to grind,
Can make their gains alike with every wind.
Only some fellow with the subtlest pate
Amongst us, may perchance equivocate
At selling of a horse, and that's the most.
Methinks the little wit I had is lost
Since I saw you ; for wit is like a rest
Held up at tennis, which men do the best
With the best gamesters. What things have we seen
Done at the Mermaid ! heard words that have been
So nimble and so full of subtle flame,
As if that everyone from whence they came
Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest,
And had resolved to live a fool the rest
Of his dull life ; then when there has been thrown
Wit able enough to justify the town
For three days past; wit that might warrant be
For the whole city to talk foolishly
Till that were cancelled, and when we were gone,
We left an air behind, which was alone
Able to make the two next companies
Right witty, though they were downright cockneys.
When I remember this, and see that now
The country gentlemen begin to allow
My wit for dry-bobs, then I needs must cry,
I see my days of ballading are nigh ;
I can already riddle, and can sing
Catches, sell bargains, and I fear shall bring
Myself to speak the hardest words I find
Over as fast as any, with one wind
That takes no medicines. But one thought of thee
Makes me remember all these things to be
The wit of our young men, fellows that show
No part of good, yet utter all they know ;
Who like trees and the guard have growing souls
Only ; strong destiny, which all controls,
I hope hath left a better fate in store
For me, thy friend, than to live evermore
Banished unto this home ; 'twill once again
Bring me to thee, who wilt make smooth and plain
The way of knowledge for me, and then I
Who have no good in me but simplicity,
Know that it will my greatest comfort be
To acknowledge all the rest to come from thee.
poem by Francis Beaumont
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Wine
Purple grapes turn to wine,
French would drink it when they dine,
You can drink it just unwind,
Forget yourself from the daily grind.
The Love Is My Wealth
The love is my wealth
It lives in my breath
It gives me the faith
It gives me the reason
To believe again
The love means to forgive
It washe our souls
It gives us the hope
And the promise of the new day
IT brings the peace to our painful and tired hearts
The love gives us
the reason to begin over again
It brings the peace to our tired souls
To ease the flame of our heart's pain
It gives us a push to run again
To stand up again and again
And never to knee down
It makes everything around us bright
It give us wings to fly at the blue sky
It take away the
the tears and the fears
It makes us find the small point of the light
At the dark of the night
To guide us to the endless light
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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Trouble
Trouble, oh trouble set me free,
I have seen your face and its to much for today
Trouble, oh trouble cant you see
Eating my heart away, and theres nothing much left of me
I drunk your wine
You have made your world mine
So wont you be fair
Oh wont you be fair
I dont no more of you
So wont you be kind to me
And let me go there
I have to go there
Trouble oh trouble move away,
I have seen your face and its to much for me today
Trouble oh trouble cant you see
You have made me a wreck now wont you leave me in my misery
Ive seen your eyes
And I have seen death disguised, oh hanging on me
Oh hanging on me
Im deep and torn
Im shattered and lost and worn
Too shocking to see
Too shocking to see
Trouble oh trouble please be kind
I dont wanna fight and I havnt got a lot of time.
song performed by by Pearl Jam
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Two Lost Souls
Surrounded by a sea of black.
Not knowing how to find the things they lack.
Two lost souls that need true love.
Noone understands these complex beings.
Their wants and needs far exceed than than others can read.
They cannot see the depth which bounds within them,
they'd get lost among the trees.
Two lost souls that need eachothers trust,
but opportunity has passed things rough.
They need to see,
they need to touch.
Upon these things that they must trust,
to make the thrust into a future robust.
They search and search,
forever seeming stuck in a lurch.
They get to know others,
finding noone they trust.
Overall compatabillity seems a bust.
Two lost souls that continue to dream.
Of the one that can help them find acceptance and pride.
Two lost souls that forever will search,
till they find eachother they know it will work.
To have and to hold,
give all their secrets behold.
Two lost souls who are ready to give,
they've seen it all there's no reason to live.
Then one day by chance in the park.
They looked at eachother ignited a spark.
Two lost souls had found what they need.
A fullfilling destiny that will fill all their need.
True loveand hope that binds them together,
eternal souls with love that causes thunder.
An unbreakable bond to last the ages.
A brand new book filled with empty pages.
Their story is grand and yet to be written.
For eachother smitten.
poem by Michael McParland
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On Reading Omar Khayyam
[During an anti-saloon campaign, in central Illinois.]
In the midst of the battle I turned,
(For the thunders could flourish without me)
And hid by a rose-hung wall,
Forgetting the murder about me;
And wrote, from my wound, on the stone,
In mirth, half prayer, half play: —
"Send me a picture book,
Send me a song, to-day."
I saw him there by the wall
When I scarce had written the line,
In the enemy's colors dressed
And the serpent-standard of wine
Writhing its withered length
From his ghostly hands o'er the ground,
And there by his shadowy breast
The glorious poem I found.
This was his world-old cry:
Thus read the famous prayer:
"Wine, wine, wine and flowers
And cup-bearers always fair!"
'Twas a book of the snares of earth
Bordered in gold and blue,
And I read each line to the wind
And read to the roses too:
And they nodded their womanly heads
And told to the wall just why
For wine of the earth men bleed,
Kingdoms and empires die.
I envied the grape stained sage:
(The roses were praising him.)
The ways of the world seemed good
And the glory of heaven dim.
I envied the endless kings
Who found great pearls in the mire,
Who bought with the nation's life
The cup of delicious fire.
But the wine of God came down,
And I drank it out of the air.
(Fair is the serpent-cup,
But the cup of God more fair.)
The wine of God came down
That makes no drinker to weep.
And I went back to battle again
Leaving the singer asleep.
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Stubborn
There's a whole lot of stubborn in this room
There's a whole lot of pride that won't let go
There's a whole lot of stubborn in this room
That shows no sign of giving up control
I've drawn all the curtains
I've turned out all the lights
Scared to death somebody else might see
There's a whole lot of stubborn in this room
And there's no one here but me
There's a whole lot of demons in this room
They want it all, and they don't wanna share
There's a whole lot of demons in this room
And none of them believe in fighting fair
Some sit on my left
Some sit on my right
They talk so loud it's hard to disagree
I'm surrounded by the demons in this room
And there's no one here but me
And I can't quite remember how to pray anymore
I can't quite remember what to say anymore
If it turns out that I can't have my way anymore
How will I know which way to turn, when I walk out the door?
There's a molecule of faith in this room
What they used to call the mustard seed
There's a molecule of faith in this room
And a book that says that's all I'll ever need
I don't know where it is, but I hope I find it soon
Cause nothing else will ever set me free
There's a molecule of faith in this room
And even though it's much too small to see,
If I have the courage to believe
I'll find the one who left it here for me
13. Just Someone I Used To Know
Theres a picture that I carry
One we made some time ago
When they ask whos in the picture with me
I say just someone I used to know
Just someone, I used to spend some time with
Just a flame, thats lost its glow
But I dont them of the nights I cried without you
I say just someone I used to know
Just someone, I used to run around with
Just a friend from long ago
I dont tell them, how lost I am without you
I say just someone I used to know
I say just someone I used to know
song performed by by Lee Ann Womack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Charmless Man
I met him in a crowded room
Where people go to drink away their gloom
He sat me down and so began
The story of a charmless man
Educated the expensive way
He knows his claret from a beaujolais
I think he'd like to have been Ronnie Kray
But then nature didn't make him that way
He thinks his educated airs those family shares
Will protect him
song performed by by Blur from The Great Escape
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wine Red
Wine red
Like rose petals against the snow
Wine red
Like crimson apple pierced with an arrow
Wine red
Like blood emitting from the skin
Wine red
Like her ruby lipstick used for sin
Wine red
The drink that lovers share
Wine red
A drink to forget a nightmare
Like Snow White fooled
She ate the poison apple;
A death of beauty
But their dirty and wicked sins
Will be recovered with an enthusiastic fury
poem by Verona Valentine
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