Which cheers the sad, revives the old, inspires
The young, makes Weariness forget his toil,
And Fear read more

Which cheers the sad, revives the old, inspires
The young, makes Weariness forget his toil,
And Fear her danger; opens a new world
When this, the present, palls.

Drink no longer water, but use a little wine for thy stomach's
sake and thine often infirmities.

Drink no longer water, but use a little wine for thy stomach's
sake and thine often infirmities.

John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
Of noble enterprise,
For if you do but taste his blood,
read more

John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
Of noble enterprise,
For if you do but taste his blood,
'Twill make your courage rise,
Twill make a man forget his wo;
'Twill heighten all his joy.

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,

You cannot know wine by the barrell.
[You cannot know the wine by the barrel.]

You cannot know wine by the barrell.
[You cannot know the wine by the barrel.]

I said, I will go up to the palm tree, I will take hold of the
boughs thereof; now read more

I said, I will go up to the palm tree, I will take hold of the
boughs thereof; now also thy breasts shall be as clusters of the
vine, and the smell of thy nose like apples;
And the roof of thy mouth like the best wine for my beloved, that
goeth down sweetly, causing the lips of those that are asleep to
speak.

Look not thou upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth his
colour in the cup, when read more

Look not thou upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth his
colour in the cup, when it moveth itself aright.
At the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder.

Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels.

Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels.

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.