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 always 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 Souse thyself in Liquors ne'er so fine.  
Sure, these were not the Steps Rome's Founder Trodden  
When he designed Above to make Abode.  
The Stars, sure, have not Damned Thee to this Fate▪  
A Fate more Cruel than the Damned's State,  
If any such could be—  
'Twas never Love to Liquor did incline  
Thy easy 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 glide,  
And after it, the other on does slide.  
The Frolic once begun, the Brain once Fired,  
〈…〉 is most Desired▪  
The Heart thus Warmed, the Nature's changed quite,  
Quite other things the Fancy does indite.  
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 Foiled, and Laughed 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 Antic 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 than her Owner,  
Turns Nauseous, and Revocks lest 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 forced 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 Suit,  
Disjoynts an Arm, or breaks a Leg to boot.  
At last at Home arrives our Squire, and then  
If he have as much Sense, Cries who's there Ben?  
Then enters staggering, Huffs, and Domineers,  
Hector's, 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 clothes; That Night no more of him.  
Sometimes his Worship is so very Struit,  
Benumbed he enters, and continues Mute,  
Creeps into Bed on Hands, and Feet, and must  
With his Dis-robing one or other Trust;  
And having laid his Head upon the Cod▪  
Somnus Arreists him with a Drowsy Nod▪  
Thus Lies out Prince, and his Chimaera Glory  
And for that time, There's no more of the Story  
Till in the Night, awakened by a Drowth,  
Cries, where's the Stoop? and sets it to his Mouth,  
His Gums Cooled, and Burnt Liver Quenched, a main:  
He lays him down, and falls to Sleep again.  
Thus Sleeps, and Slumbers on, till in a Fright.  
He does Awake, Scared by the Morning Light.  
Takes th' other Drink, Lies down; But Sleeps his Toil.  
From Side to Side, He does himself Turmoil.  
Sloutching he Lies, but finds no solid Rest.  
To Rise, or Lie, He knows not which is best,  
With various Thoughts his Soul is so Oppressed.  
Slighted Affairs, Stareing upon him Cries,  
He must get up; though scarce has Power to Rise.  
His Burning Veins Tormenting every Part,  
An Acheing-Head, a Sick and Squeemish Heart▪  
At last dispersed the Fumes of last Night's Drinking.  
In Soberness, He falls to Sober Thinking:  
When He begins with Horror to look back.  
On each Extravagant, Mad Word and Act;  
His Soul then Sinks, without Hopes of Relief,  
Dissolved 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 Frolics, Mirth, and Joy  
Balance 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 Disoblidged them, without Hopes of mends.  
My wounded Reputation Bleeding Lies,  
My Blasted Credit by this Folly Dies.  
To all the World, I'm made a Laughing Stock,  
And Looked upon, but as a Drunken Block.  
And as the Fool's Heart fails Him in the Way  
By this My hidden Weakness I Bewray  
Without all Courage, Conduct, or an Heart,  
Losing my Time, can no ways Act my Part.  
Impaired Health Death ushering in too fast:  
A mouldering Fortune Negligence doth Blast.  
I have in needless, horrid Hazards Run  
Precipitant; not having Sense to shun.  
I've spoke what I with Horror call to Mind,  
Ashamed to own, that e'er I such Designed.  
Religion's Scandal; Piety Disgraced:  
Offence to God; His Image quite Defaced.   

Of Drinking th' Bad Concomitants surmount  
All that the greatest Penman can Recount.   

Then let Me all the World pardon Crave.  
I'll hence for no Man, be to Drink a Slave.   

Almighty Jah! Grant that I steadfast Stand  
In this Resolve, Obeying thy Command.