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A Cup of COFFEE: OR, Coffee in its Colours.
FOr Men and Christians to turn Turks, and think
T' excuse the Crime because 'tis in their drink,
Is more then Magick, and does plainly tell
Coffee's extraction has its heats from Hell.
Pure English Apes! ye may, for ought I know,
Would it but mode, learn to eat Spiders too.
Should any of your Grandsires Ghosts appear
In your Wax-Candle-Circles, and but hear
The name of Coffee so much call'd upon,
Then see it drank like scalding Phlegeton;
Would they not startle, think ye, all agreed,
'Twas Conjuration both in Word and Deed;
Or Catiline's Conspirators, as they stood
Sealing their Oaths in Draughts of reeking Blood?
The merriest Ghost of all your Sires would say,
Your Wine's much worse since his last yesterday:
He'd wonder how the Club had giv'n a Hop
O'er Tavern-Bars, into the Farriers Shop;
Where he'd suppose, both by the smoak and stench,
Each Man a Horse, and each Horse at his Drench.
That y' are no Poets, nor their Friends, I vow
Without an Oath I'd credit: for should now
Ben Iohnson's strenuous Spirit, or the rare
Beaumont and Fletcher's in your Rounds appear,
They would not finde the Air perfum'd with one
Castalian Drop, nor Dew of Helicon;
But fleeing, cry out, Sulphur, Liquid Fire,
Fetcht from Cocytus, and the Stygian Mire:
When they but men, would speak as the Gods do;
They drank pure Nectar as the Gods drink too,
Sublim'd with rich Canary; they would move
Discourse i' th' Language spoke i' th' world above.
But pray Sirreverence Sirs, what wonder drops
Nuncle Iohns Kettle-house in the Coffee-shops?
Your Servant, Sir, what News from Tripoly?
Do the Weeks Pamphlets in their Works agree?
Then Dame Diurnal goes to th' Pot; if you
But say she scoulds, she's duck'd in Coffee too:
Oft at your Sessions b'ing arraign'd and cast
For petty Thefts, pleading her Book, at last
She's with Wax-Candle, or Tobacco-snuff,
But burnt i' th' hand, and so serv'd well enough.
Hear, and admire, Oh Men! these are the new
Admirabilia of the Coffee-Crew.
Fie, Friends to the gross Turky-shore, shall then
These less then Coffee's self, these Coffee-men,
These sons of nothing, that can hardly make
Their Broth, for laughing how the Jest does take;
Yet grin, and give ye for the Vine's pure Blood,
A loathsome Potion, not yet understood,
Syrrop of Soot, or Essence of old Shooes,
Dasht with Diurnals, and the Books of News?
Nay, for ought I know, (I'd not be absurd)
A meer Decoction of the Devils—* 1.1
If, as the fashion of your Cloaths, you change
Your Drinks as often, to as new and strange,
Let' Pothecaries then your custom thank,
And not these Munkeys of a Mountebank.
Have by misfortune your cross-cap'ring Brains
Got either Clap, or Running of the Reins?
Guaicum's infusion take, and Turpentine,
Which but compar'd with Coffee, drink like VVine.
Are ye with Surfeits stomach-full? Take then
Warm Treacle-water, sweat, and well agen.
Does Venus heat your Bloods too high? Allay
That fire with drops of Maiden Camphora.
Drink whole Pharmacopeia o'er, know this,
No Draught so loathsome as foul Coffee is,
Of which this onely is a taste, and those
Would know its Vertue, may go look't in Prose,
For 't cannot stand in Verse, (though 't lye in Print)
Because there's neither Rime nor Reason in 't.
Yet I have heard a grave Grand-Signior tell,
Coffee does dull and yawning Sleeps expel.
Why Frenzie, Fevers, or the Poor Mans Gout,
Will do this feat as well, and that without
A God-a-mercy; nay, 'twill make 'em do
And talk as idly and as frantick too.
Though in the power of this Turkish Spell
I'm faithless as a Jew or Infidel,
Yet I believe I eas'ly might confess
Coffee potential in such Cures as these.
First, (for example) are there 'mongst ye some
Have soundly had the Morbum Gallicum?
Let 'em drink Coffee, and from Whores abstain,
I'll pawn my Pen they're Pocky well again.
From Venus Racks, let's fall to Bacchus Stocks:
Are ye dead drunk? ha' ye caught a catching Fox?
Take me then Coffee, drink it scalding hot,
(For though it scalds, yet know, it burneth not)
Sleep upon't soundly; when you re-awake,
Y'are a lives man again, I'll undertake.
Is any of your sober Signiors ta'en
With Maggot-Meagroms, or the Worm i'th' Brain?
(For though such Worms in Ages heretofore
Sought their forc'd fortunes at mens Postern Door;
Yet as the Moon and humane Humours change,
They alter too, and now through th' head do range.)
If any be thus craz'd, and by the Rimples
About his Nose, you fear he'll fall i' th' Simples,
Well worm him first, and take a special heed
No spawn remain of the sly Serpents seed;
Then to the Mistress of the great Mogul
Let him carouse a Coffee-Kettle full,
And rise a wonder of the Turkey-shore,
As wise and well as ere he was before.
Such cures can Coffee work. I could afford
Ye many more; but to the wise a word.
And now Stew'd Prewen-mongers, and all you
Drink-dablers, that have so long kept ado
With China-Ale, Stupone, Virgin-Wine,
Alum and Metheglin, and a hundred fine
Devices more, all to no purpose, know,
Ye ha'nt the way; these are all things that grow
Here, here at home, when as a forraign Fart,
Mixt and miscall'd according unto Art,
Sells quick as the new Perukes now adays,
Goes off as well, and takes the self-same place.
But whine not, Dunces, nor despair, ye Fools;
Ye have Back-sides left yet, and good Close stools,
Large as the Coffee-Kettles: make good use
Of these; they shall an equal gain produce.
Remember Coff', can ye but Piss and Cack?
Jumble't together, call it Scythian Sack,
Tantavelin, Fogofarto, or but some
New name, not known in English Christendome;
Or let some Jew derive its stock and stem
At least as far as from Ierusalem,
That so it be'nt smelt out; let him but frame
Ought but to call't out of it's Christian Name;
Poste up its Vertues ev'ry where in good
Strange Hebrew-English, which not understood
Makes much the better; there lies all the knack,
The Jest's pure Hogo, and the Conceit's smack:
For in this Age, nothing's cry'd up for good,
Save what's stark naught, or what's not understood.
So that, I fear, these very Rules may run
I' th' compass of some commendation.
But to the scope: There must be got mad Boys
For your first setters, or as't were Decoys,
I' intice the Novists, till they've made a Rode
Unto your Door, and your Knack 'gins to mode;
When you'll, I fear, be forced to have wait
Some tall-gown'd-Porter at your thronged Gate
To make distinction of your Guests, lest none
Enter but friends, and men of fashion;
And this will take the Youngsters so, you'll see
A Leaguer dayly at your Door will be;
You'll be besieg'd with Money and good Words
For the rare Juyce that your Back-sides affords;
Ye shall make Coffee stink. In short, be all
Made men at length, for to make men withal.
'T shall ne'er be said, a Turdy Turk could do
More with a meer Sirreverence then you.