Decency is at an end;
Sparks from out their eyes are darting,
And the babbling tongues unbend.
“Crooked caps shake back and forward,
Hung but by a single hair;
Stiff old legs the dance are trying,
Hoarse old voices sing out fair.
“At the first cup which thou drainest,
Didst thou seem transformed to me;
If another now thou’dst empty,