Song VIII. Nunc Est Bibendum

Now we're free from College Rules, From Common-place-book reason, From trifling syllogistic Schools, And Systems out of Season; Never more we'll have defin'd, If Matter thinks or thinks not; All the matter we shall mind, Is — he who drinks — or drinks not.

Metaphysic'ly to trace, The Mind, or Soul abstracted; Or prove Infinity of Space, By cause on cause effected; Better Souls we can't become By immaterial thinking; And as to Space, we want no room, But room enough to drink in.

Plenum, vacuum, minus, plus, Are learned words, and rare too, — Those terms our Tutors may discuss, And those who please may hear too. — A Plenum in our Wine we show, With Plus, and Plus behind, sir, And when our Cash is minus, low, A Vacuum soon we find, sir.

Copernicus, that learned sage, Dane Tycho's error proving, Declares in — I can't tell what page — The Earth round Sol is moving. But which goes round, what's that to us? Each is, perhaps, a notion; With Earth, and Sun, we make no fuss, But mind the Bottle's motion.

Great Galileo ill was us'd, By Superstition's fury; Antipodeans were abus'd By ignoramus jury: But, feet to feet, we dare attest, Nor fear a treatment scurvy; For when we're drunk, probatum est, We're tumbling, topsy turvy.

Newton talk'd of Lights and Shades, And different Colours knew, sir: Don't let us disturb our heads, — We will but study two, sir.— White and Red our glasses boast, Reflection, and Refraction; After him we name our Toast, — "The Center of Attraction."

On that Thesis we'll declaim, With stratum, super stratum; There's mighty magic in the name, 'Tis Nature's Postulatum. Wine, in nature's next to love; Then wisely let us blend 'em; First tho', physically prove, That Nunc, nunc est bibendum.