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Make Me a Bowl |
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MAKE ME A BOWL
By John Oldham (1653-83)
Make me a bowl, a mighty bowl,
Large as my capacious soul;
Vast as my thirst is, let it have
Depth enough to be my grave;
I mean the grave of all my care,
For I design to bury it there.
Let it of silver fashion'd be,
Worthy of wine, worthy of me !
Worthy to adorn the spheres
As that bright cup amongst the stars:
That cup which Heaven deign'd a place
Next the sun its greatest grace.
Kind cup ! that to the stars did go
To light poor drunkards here below;
Let mine be so, and give me light;
That I may drink and revel by't:
Yet draw no shapes of armour there,
No casque, nor shield, nor sword, nor spear.
Nor wars of Thebes, nor wars of Troy,
Nor any other martial toy :
For what do I vain armour prize,
Who mind not such rough exercise ?
But gentler sieges, softer wars,
Fights that cause no wounds or scars.
I'll have no battles on my plate,
Lets sight of them should brawls create ;
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