So Diamonds sparkle, and thy Mistriss eyes; 
When tis not Fire but light in either flyes. 
Beauty not thaw'd by lustful flames will show 
Like a fair mountain of unmelted snow: 
Nor can the tasted vine more danger bring 
Then water taken from the chrystall Spring, 
Whose end is to refresh and cool that heat 
Which unallayd becomes foul vices seat: 
Unless thy boyling veins, mad with desire 
Of drink, convert the liquor into fire. 
For then thou quaff'st down feavers, thy full bowles 
Carouse the burning draughts of Portia's coles. 
If it do leap and sparkle in the cup, 
Twill sink thy cares, and help invention up. 
There never yet was Muse or Poet known 
Not dipt or drenched in this Helicon. 
But Tom! take heed thou use it with such care 
As Witches deal with their Familiar. 
For if thy vertues circle not confine 
And guard thee from the Furies rais'd by wine, 
'Tis ten to one this dancing spirit may 
A Devil prove to bear thy wits away; 
And make thy glowing nose a Map of Hell 
Where Bacchus purple fumes like Meteors dwell. 
Now think not these sage moralls thee invite 
To prove Carthusian or strict Rechabite; 
Let fooles be mad, wise people may be free, 
Though not to license turn their libertie. 
He that drinks wine for health, not for excess, 
Nor drownes his temper in a drunkenness, 
Shall feel no more the grapes unruly fate, 
Then if he took some chilling Opiate.