He causeth the grass to grow for the cattle, and herb for the
service of man: that he may read more

He causeth the grass to grow for the cattle, and herb for the
service of man: that he may bring forth food out of the earth;
And wine that maketh glad the heart of man, and oil to make his
face to shine, and bread which strengtheneth man's heart.

Ten thousand casks,
Forever dribbling out their base contents,
Touch'd by the Midas finger of the state,
read more

Ten thousand casks,
Forever dribbling out their base contents,
Touch'd by the Midas finger of the state,
Bleed gold for ministers to sport away.
Drink, and be mad then; 'tis your country bids!

I hang no ivie out to sell my wine;
The nectar of good wits will sell itself.

I hang no ivie out to sell my wine;
The nectar of good wits will sell itself.

The wine in the bottell doth not quench thirst.
[The wine in the bottle does not quench thirst.]

The wine in the bottell doth not quench thirst.
[The wine in the bottle does not quench thirst.]

From wine what sudden friendship springs?

From wine what sudden friendship springs?

When asked what wines he liked to drink he replied, "That which
belongs to another."
- read more

When asked what wines he liked to drink he replied, "That which
belongs to another."
- Laertius Diogenes,

Firm and erect the Caledonian stood;
Sound was his mutton, and his claret good;
"Let him drink read more

Firm and erect the Caledonian stood;
Sound was his mutton, and his claret good;
"Let him drink port!" the English statesman cried:
He drank the poison, and his spirit died.

Few things surpass old wine; and they may preach
Who please, the more because they preach in vain,--
read more

Few things surpass old wine; and they may preach
Who please, the more because they preach in vain,--
Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter,
Sermons and soda-water the day after.

Sing! Who sings
To her who weareth a hundred rings?
Ah, who is this lady fine?
read more

Sing! Who sings
To her who weareth a hundred rings?
Ah, who is this lady fine?
The Vine, boys, the Vine!
The mother of the mighty Wine,
A roamer is she
O'er wall and tree
And sometimes very good company.