Heraclitus ne’er could deny
To tipple and cherish his heart,
And when he was maudlin he’d cry,
Because he had empty’d his quart;
Tho’ some are so foolish to think
He wept at men’s folly and vice,
’Twas only his fashion to drink
Till the liquor flow’d out of his eyes. {21}
Democritus always was glad
Of a bumper to cheer up his soul,