The Merry Boys of Europe.  

No liquour like the brisk Canary,  
It makes the dull Soul blithe and merry;  
It helps the Back, prolongs the Life,  
And is much better then a Wife.   
To the Tune of, Now, now the Fight's done, &c.  
 a man with a cask  two men, each holding his hat  

I 'll Drink of my Bottle each night for my share,  
And as for a Mistris I'll never take care;  
The one makes me jolly and evermore gay,  
But a Mistris destroys by her sporting and play;  
She drains all my Blood till I look quiter as pale  
As a Thief that's half-starved, long kept in a Goal.   

She infeebles my Nerves, and doth shorten my life,  
And empties my Pockets, and so will a Wife;  
Then Women make Asses of those that you can,  
I'll find out a Comrade, some jolly young-man;  
And in our full Glasses we'l laugh and we'l jest,  
So perhaps for diversion we'l drink to the best.   

When our senses are drowned,& our eyes they do pink  
And ourselves do not know what we say or do think;  
Our wits we conceive are far better then they,  
Who to the Sack-Bottle could ne'er find the way:  
Then a Pox of those Misers who hourly do scrape,  
And knows not the virtue that lies in the Grape.   

Then Beauties farewell, for I'lene'r be your slave,  
Nor for your fair looks sigh myself to a Grave,  
But the Bottle I'll hug, which preserveth my life,  
Puts an end to my sorrows, and banisheth strife:  
When my thread it is spun;& my hour comes to die;  
Like Diogenes I▪ in a Sack-Butt will lie.   

And that close Wainscot-room shall my body confine,  
Who valued not women, but loved good wine;  
To Bacchus I'll surely be a Sacrifice,  
And ne'er be entangled by Ladies fair eyes;  
Whose delight is to see men to sigh and to mourn,  
And their eyes they do feast when they see men forlorn.   

What a fool is that man that will bow& will cringe  
To beauty, so he doth his freedom infringe;  
And whilst he might live and for ever be free,  
Himself he deprives of his chief Liberty;  
His rest it is lost and his spirits do fail,  
He's a foe to himself and doth build his own Goal.   

Then give me the Lad that will swim in the Bottle,  
And not in salt water like vexed Aristotle;  
For had he but then been acquainted with Sack,  
His Iudgment in tides he never would lack;  
When he by his study his brains did confounded,  
He leaped in the Ocean, and there he was drowned.   

But this liquour of Life which I so much commend  
To ev'ry true Toper, will prove a true friend,  
And wash from his heart all his sorrow and care,  
In Poverty keep him from doubt and despair:  
Then who can but love this unparalleled thing.  
That makes nobles of peasants,& is drink for a King.   

If the mind be disturbed, take this liquour but free,  
And you'l find in a moment you cured will be:  
If you grieve or do mourn for the loss of a friend,  
This liquour undoubtedly comfort will lend;  
'tis good for all Men, and in every condition,  
Will keep them from charge of a prating physician.   

Then matchless Canary I'll sing forth thy famed,  
And will against Beauty for ever exclaim,  
For he that doth once fall in love with the Vine,  
Will never have reason at all to repined;  
For it cheers our dull souls, while we merrily sing,  
Long live Charles the second, our sovereign King.   

In the height of our sport we no Treason conspire,  
To be brisk and be merry is all our desire;  
Our hearts have no harbour for any ill thought,  
We despise spite and malice and all that is nought:  
And in our full Bumpers we'l laugh and we'l sing,  
And for our diversion we'l drink to the King.    

Printed for J. clerk, at the horse-shoe, in West-smith-field, between the Hospital-Gate and Duck-Lane end.