Secret choir shall sweepe the wynter season
with dulcet odes to Grape and Grain!
Thou who wouldst a chorister make, prepare thyself in forme and reason,
for drunken joy does not the sober soul obtaine!
The lips need lubrication by the tinne,
and the pipes wetted with the cannikin!
Nor canst thou hungry-hearted sing
songs in praise of reveling;
the Stomack must have its Pie & Meate,
the Tongue it's contrivance of Salt & Sweet,
the Braine by draughts unseated from its Throne,
if thou wouldst a drinker's hymn intone!
O Singer! Tune the aeolian harp of thy soul,
that the gentle breeze of Musick's breath,
and all fair Muses in their roles
may sound strings of Jubilation and Regrete!
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