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'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!