A SATYR AGAINST COFFEE.
AVoid,
Satanick Tipple! hence
Thou Murtherer of Farthings, and of
Pence;
And Midwife to all
false Intelligence!
Avoid, I say, of Hell thou art,
For God no liquor doth to man impart,
But that which quenches
Thirst, or chears the
Heart.
Bak'd in a pan,
Brew'd in a pot,
The third device of him who first begot
The Printing Libels, and the Powder-plot.
A
Swill that needs must be accurst,
And of all sorts of Drink the very worst,
By which the
Devils Children (Lies) are nurst.
Now if I fancy not amisse,
Vespatian, who impos'd Excise on Piss,
Would for no
smell of Lucre suffer this.
The Sister of the common Sewer,
That passes through the Reins with Streams impure;
That Robs the Vintner and undoes the Brewer.
For by this poor
Arabian Berry,
Comes the Neglect of
Malago and
Sherry,
And
sooty Surges rise to
Charon's Ferry.
The Sweat of
Negroes, Blood of
Moores,
The Blot of
Sign-post, and the Stain of
doors,
And
the last Shift of Publicans and Whores.
Give o're you
Whifflers then! enough;
Convert your
Powder into Irish
Snuff,
And lay your
Lace upon some richer
Stuff.