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 His Friends of Christ-Church upon the Mislike of the Marriage of the Arts Acted at Woodstock
2. Sonnet. Go thou that vainly do'st mine eyes invite
3. To the Queen at Oxford
4. The Short Wooing
5. Madam Gabrina, Or The Ill-Favourd Choice

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