Vulcan, contrive me such a cup <br />As Nestor used of old; <br />Show all thy skill to trim it up, <br />Damask it round with gold. <br /> <br />Make it so large that, filled with sack <br />Up to the swelling brim, <br />Vast toasts on the delicious lake <br />Like ships at sea may swim. <br /> <br />Engrave not battle on its cheek: <br />With war I've nought to do; <br />I'm none of those that took Maastricht, <br />Nor Yarmouth leaguer knew. <br /> <br />Let it no name of planets tell, <br />Fixed stars, or constellations; <br />For I am no Sir Sidrophel, <br />Nor none of his relations. <br /> <br />But carve theron a spreading vine, <br />Then add two lovely boys; <br />Their limbs in amorous folds intwine, <br />The type of future joys. <br /> <br />Cupid and Bacchus my saints are, <br />May drink and love still reign, <br />With wine I wash away my cares, <br />And then to cunt again.<br /><br />Lord John Wilmot<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/upon-his-drinking-a-bowl/
