WINE, WOMEN, AND SONG

Ovarus mine,

Plant thou the vine

Within this kindly soil of Tibur;

Nor temporal woes,

Nor spiritual, knows

The man who's a discreet imbiber.

For who doth croak

Of being broke,

Or who of warfare, after drinking?

With bowl atween us,

Of smiling Venus

And Bacchus shall we sing, I'm thinking.

Of symptoms fell

Which brawls impel,

Historic data give us warning;

The wretch who fights

When full, of nights,

Is bound to have a head next morning.

I do not scorn

A friendly horn,

But noisy toots, I can n't abide‘ em!

Your howling bat

Is stale and flat

To one who knows, because he's tried‘ em!

The secrets of

The life I love

( Companionship with girls and toddy )

I would not drag

With drunken brag

Into the ken of everybody;

But in the shade

Let some coy maid

With smilax wreathe my flagon's nozzle,

Then all day long,

With mirth and song,

Shall I enjoy a quiet sozzle!