Wine, No. 52

Topers in and out of season! 'Tis not thirst but better reason Bids you tope on steadily!— Pass the wine-cup, let it be Filled and filled for bout on bout Never sleep! Racy jest and song flash out! Spirits leap!

Those who cannot drink their rations, Go, begone from these ovations! Here's no place for bashful boys; Like the plague, they spoil our joys.— Bashful eyes bring rustic cheer When we're drunk, And a blush betrays a drear Want of spunk.

If there's here a fellow lurking Who his proper share is shirking, Let the door to him be shown, From our crew we'll have him thrown;— He's more desolate than death, Mixed with us; Let him go and end his breath! Better thus!

When your heart is set on drinking, Drink on without stay or thinking, Till you cannot stand up straight, Nor one word articulate!— But herewith I pledge to you This fair health: May the glass no mischief do, Bring you wealth!

Wed not you the god and goddess, For the god doth scorn the goddess; He whose name is Liber, he Glories in his liberty. All her virtue in the cup Runs to waste, And wine wedded yieldeth up Strength and taste.

Since she is the queen of ocean, Goddess she may claim devotion; But she is no mate to kiss His superior holiness. Bacchus never deigned to be Watered, he! Liber never bore to be Christened, he!