LET US HAVE PEACE

In maudlin spite let Thracians fight

Above their bowls of liquor;

But such as we, when on a spree,

Should never brawl and bicker!

These angry words and clashing swords

Are quite de trop, I'm thinking;

Brace up, my boys, and hush your noise,

And drown your wrath in drinking.

Aha,‘ t is fine,— this mellow wine

With which our host would dope us!

Now let us hear what pretty dear

Entangles him of Opus.

I see you blush,— nay, comrades, hush!

Come, friend, though they despise you,

Tell me the name of that fair dame,—

Perchance I may advise you.

O wretched youth! and is it truth

You love that fickle lady?

I, doting dunce, courted her once;

Since when, she's reckoned shady!