Whiskey

 

Whiskey, thou blessed heaven in the brain,
O that the belly should revolt,
To make a hell of afterpain,
And prove thy virtue was a fault!

 

Did, ever poet seek his bed
With a sweet phrase upon his lips
Smiling-as I laid down my head,
Pleased after sundry whiskey sips?

 

I pitied all the world: alas
That no poor nobodies came near,
To give to them my shirt and shoes,
And bid them be of goodly cheer.

 

A blessed heaven was in the brain;
But ere came morn the belly turned
And kicked up hell's delight in pain-
This tongue went dry, this throat it burned.

 

Oh dear! Oh dear! to think last night
The merriest man on earth was I,
And that I should awake this morn,
To cough and groan, to heave and sigh!