But for an hour, or even but a half:
O! would not Bacchus bid the guests to quaff,
Each with a goblet bumper’d up to brim?
And would not Bacchus even worship him?
* * * * *
’Tis best, perhaps, that Sol should not come down,
For fear my darling Venus might be stol’n:
So bid my chosen-ones bring all their moons!”—
He pauses, mutters, bows his head, and swoons;
Falls (but unhurt) with force upon the ground,