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

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.

Old Simon the cellarer keep a rare store Of Malmsey and Malvoisie.

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

Wine is a mocker, strong drink is raging: and whoever is deceived thereby is not wise.

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.

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.

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.

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.

So Noah, when he anchor'd safe on The mountain's top, his lofty haven, And all the passengers he bore Were on the new world set ashore, He made it next his chief design To plant and propagate a vine, Which since has overwhelm'd and drown'd Far greater number, on dry ground, Of wretched mankind, one by one, Than all the flood before had done.

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.

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.

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? 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.

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!

The conscious water saw its God and blushed. - Richard Crashaw,

"It wasn't the wine," murmured Mr. Snodgrass in a broken voice, "it was the salmon."

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

Bring me wine, but wine which never grew In the belly of the grape, Or grew on vine whose tap-roots, reaching through Under the Andes to the Cape, Suffered no savor of the earth to escape.

A medium Vodka dry Martini--with a slice of lemon peel. Shaken and not stirred.