As we’re not friends to sorrow,
We’ll be glad ones to-night,
(Conscience loquitur,)
“To be sad ones to-morrow!”
Ah! that was old Conscience:
Him we’ll drown in the wine!
Plunge him in! hold him down!
Ah! he dies!—now the Nine
May, to write in his praise,
From our Helicon borrow.