Advice To The Drunkard Poem by Rees Prichard

IF thou'rt a drunkard, fond of ale and wine,
And smokest vile mundungus without end,
Cry out with speed, unto th' Pow'r divine,
To give thee grace, to conquer the foul fiend.

If thou hast fall'n into Excess's well,
Quickly implore assistance from above:
For neither angel, man, or imp of hell,
Can thence, without it, the drench'd brute remove.

The drunken fiend will never quit his home,
(No more than Satan the dumb child of old)
'Till Christ shall with his holy Spirit come,
By fasts and pray'rs to force him from his hold.

Pray, that thou always mayest strength obtain,
The monstrous sin of drunk'ness to prevent ;
From all excess, throughout thy life, refrain,
And never go, where drunken folks frequent.

From the sot's pray'r no good can e'er ensue,
Unless he fasts, and guards against excess:
For pray'r and fasting only can subdue
The fiend, that takes delight in drunkenness.

Though thou shou'dst pray against that odious sin,
If thou dost not the dire temptation shun;
Thy pray'r to thee will not be worth a pin,
Because thou didst not from the tavern run.

The teeth of drunkenness ne'er lose their hold,
But, like a lion's, strongly seize their prey,
'Till Christ shall come, that Lion truly bold!
To bruise his head, and snatch thy soul away.

The horse, that in a boggy slough has sunk,
Without much help, can never leave the pit :
So neither can the man, that's ever drunk,
Without Christ's aid, his swinish habit quit.

Compel not any one to drink too-much,
But let each drink, according to his mind:
If some drink deep, do thou not herd with such,
Nor ever drink more than thou art inclin'd.

Respect thy betters, when they are in place,
But still respect thyself, by drinking nought :
If thou by bumpers think'st to do them grace,
By gracing them, thou'lt to disgrace be brought.

'Tis a sad health, a health replete with ill,
To drink what neither gives thee health, nor joy :
I ne'er shall pledge the health (come, what come will)
That shall in any shape my own destroy.

Some sneer at me, because I sober keep,
And seldom seem to smile at any one;
Whilst many a briny tear I kindly weep,
To see them all by sottishness undone.

The sot, that sneer'd not many seasons since,
Because my money in my purse I kept,
Has since (because I wou'd not lend my pence)
Full many a tear in sullen silence wept.

For Jesus' sake from drunkenness defend
Thyself, it is the very worst of crimes,
It turns a man into a perfect fiend,
Worse than the brutes themselves a hundred times.

Flee from the tavern, from excess refrain,
Seek not the champion, Liquor, to subdue,
For none e'er cou'd, o'er it, a conquest gain,
But they that timely from its strength with-drew.

The famous Alexander erst subdu'd,
Where-e'er he march'd, the countries all around;
But Liquor with superior might endu'd,
O'ercame with ease that conqueror renown'd.

'Tis better run away, than brave the field -
'Tis better flee, than fight a rabble rout -
'Tis better far, than strive with drink, to yield;
Or thou'lt be foil'd, if thou wilt see it out.

An hundred times thou did'st thy valour try,
But ev'ry trial was as oft in vain:
And if thou dost not from the victor fly,
Thou certainly shalt catch a fall again.

Many, o'er liquor, wou'd a conquest boast,
And vaunt that they can full as firmly tread;
Yet all, that ever try'd, the vict'ry lost,
But they, that early from the conflict fled.

Approach the fire, thy shins its heat shall feel -
Approach thou pitch, it will thy garments stain -
Approach a serpent, it will sting thy heel -
Approach strong liquor, it will turn thy brain.

Flee from a serpent, lest it sting thy heel -
Flee from the plague, lest it shou'd strike thee dead -
Flee from the fire, lest thou its force shou'dst feel -
Flee from strong liquor, lest it turn thy head.

Of all the slaves, wherewith this world is stor'd,
The worst is he, who is his belly's slave:
For, whilst he lives, he'll seek no other Lord,
O'er him supreme authority to have.

The drunkard to the tavern goes, possess'd
Of sense, of strength, and all his pow'rs of mind:
He enters in a man, goes out a beast,
Spues like a dog, and grunts like a fiend.

The drunkard, God and all his gifts will leave,
With his possessions he'll play fast and loose,
To the first harlot he can find, he'll cleave,
His mem'ry, money; nay, himself, he'll lose.

None scarce got drunk but vagabonds of yore,
And the most vile among the canting sort :
But there's no room now vacant for the poor ;
So thick their Betters to the inns resort!

'Tis bad to see a judge disguis'd with beer,
Or find a justice sprawling in the street -
'Tis bad, to see a reeling, stamm'ring peer -
But 'tis far worse, a drunken priest to meet.

'Twere a good law, all drunkards to assign,
Like tender infants, to a guardian's care:
Since they, no more than infants, when in wine,
Can rule themselves, or mind the least affair.

The sot, no reason has, himself to guide,
Nor is of instinct, for his use, possess'd:
For want of either, o'er him to preside,
He's much worse off than any other beast :

He is, alas! so very great a fool,
He can't direct himself with any skill,
Nor suffer others his concerns to rule;
Though he himself directs them e'er so ill.

Woe be to him that rises with the light
To drink, and still carouses on, untir'd,
Continuing his jollity, 'till night,
And 'till he's by the long potation fir'd.

The flaming pit and Satan open wide
Their jaws, to swallow up all drunken men,
Ere they can lay their bestial load aside -
Or can find time to soberize agen.

Woe be those, that in their drink are strong,
And able to contain the greatest load!
Nor roots, nor branches shall be left them long,
But they shall wholly be destroy'd by God.

Woe be to him, who, only to disclose
His neighbour's weakness, puts about the bowl!
The Lord, incens'd, will rank him with his foes,
Because he tries to slay his neighbour's soul.

From drunkenness retire betimes away,
Or thou'lt be bury'd in its nauseous slough:
When on a quicksand thou dost use delay,
Thou'rt swallow'd up, whilst thou'rt about to go.

All other sinners strive their faults to hide,
Besides the leaden-headed sot alone:
But he must foolishly display full wide
Each odious sin and crime that he has done.

Adam endeavour'd wisely to conceal,
With fig-tree leaves his error and disgrace,
But Noah, in his liquor, did reveal
What Nature hid, before his children's face.

Our Saviour tells all Christians to beware,
Lest they with sots and Epicures shou'd eat,
And bids them shun them with an equal care,
As they wou'd from the plague itself retreat.

As smoke will make th' half-stifled bees depart,
However loath, from their beloved hive:
So drunkenness will from the human heart,
Each grace divine, and ev'ry virtue drive.

The king of Babylon, as Daniel says,
Was to a beast transform'd for seven years:
But, longer far than that, the drunkard stays
Disguis'd, and all his life a hog appears.

The drunkard's wages are - a short'ned life -
An empty lodging - an uneasy bed -
A stomach foul - companions fond of strife -
A tatter'd doublet - and an aching head -

His sire's inheritance, the swinish sot
Sells, even all he has, as cheap as dirt :
His Stock and Crop must also go to pot :
Nay, to buy liquor, he will sell his shirt.

Bacchus is still the drunkard's real god;
His church - a tavern, or a nasty inn;
His landlady - the priestess of th' abode;
His pot and pipe - his very next of kin.

Be sober, whilst thou art as yet but young,
Let not thy belly ever rob thy back,
Let not thy wasteful youth thy old age wrong
And make thee common necessaries lack.

The law of God will have him ston'd outright
Who spends in criminal excess his time,
That the fell vice may be unrooted quite,
And others be deterr'd from such a crime.

Christ unawares will to the drunkard come,
To punish him for his unseemly crime,
And him to hell's infernal dungeon doom,
To gnash his teeth beyond the end of time.

May God then give to ev'ry Christian grace,
To drink no more than nature does suffice -
Lest he himself shou'd through excess debase,
And damn both soul and body by this vice.