Poem by Henry King, Bishop of Chichester

To One That Demaunded Why The Wine Sparkles

Wee doe not give the wine a sparkling name 
As if wee meant those sparkes emply’d a flame; 
The flame lyes in our bloud: And ’tis desire 
Fed by loose appetite setts us on fire. 
He that drinks wine for health, nor for excess, 
Nor drownes his temper in a drunkenness, 
Shall feel no more the wines unruly fate, 
Then in he dranke some chilling Opiate.

1. To My Sister Anne King, Who Chid Me In Verse For Being Angry
2. Another Of The Same, Paraphrased For An Antheme
3. The Vow-Breaker
4. Upon A Table-Book Presented To A Lady
5. On the Earl of Essex

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