John Fletcher

(20 December 1579 - 29 August 1625 / Rye, Sussex, England)

Drinking Song


DRINK to-day, and drown all sorrow,
You shall perhaps not do it tomorrow.
Best, while you have it, use your breath;
There is no drinking after death.

Wine works the heart up, wakes the wit;
There is no cure 'gainst age but it.
It helps the headache, cough, and tisic,
And is for all diseases physic.

Then let us swill, boys, for our health;
Who drinks well, loves the commmonwealth.
And he that will to bed go sober,
Falls with the leaf still in October.

Submitted: Wednesday, February 18, 2015

Topic of this poem: carpe diem


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