Poems, &c. By James Shirley.

To Gent. that broke their promise of a meeting, made when they drank Claret.

THere is no Faith in Claret, and it shall Henceforth with me be held Apocryphal. Ile trust a small-beer promise, nay a Troth Wash'd in the Thames, before a french wine oath. That Grape, they say is binding; yes, 'tis so, And it has made your souls thus costive too. Circe transform'd the Greeks, no hard designe, For some can do as much with Claret wine Upon themselves, witnes you two, allow'd Once honest, now turn'd Ayre, and A-la-mode. Begin no health in this, or if by chance The Kings, 'twill question your allegiance; And men will after all your rufling, say, You drink as some do fight, in the French way; Engage and trouble many, when 'tis known, You spread their interest to wave your owne. Away with this false Christian, it shall be An excommunicate from mirth, and me;

Give me the Catholique diviner flame, To light me to the fair Odelias Name: 'Tis Sack that justifies both man and verse, Whilst you in Lethe-Claret still converse. Forget your owne names next, and when you look With hope to find, be lost in the Church-book.