Contracta quem non in paupertate solutum.”[9b]
In drunkenness what pow’rful magic lies,
What’s most envelop’d from researching eyes,
(Transparent thing!) it evidently shows,
The innocent no dark disguises knows.
By her commands our hopes maturely rise,
Push’d on to war the coward dauntless dies,
And sinking minds beneath unwieldy care,
Cast off the load, and move with sprightful air.
To her, all arts their origin must owe: