Like rosy fat friars, again and again
Our beads we have told, boys I—in sparkling champagne!
Our gravity's centre is good vin de grave,
Pour'd out to replenish the goblet concave;
And tell me what rubies so glisten and shine,
Like the deep blushing ruby of Burgundy wine?
His face in the glass Bibo smiles when he sees;
For Fancy takes flight on no wing like the bee's!
If truth in a well lie,—ah! truth, well-a-day!—
I'll seek it in “Fmo,”—the pleasantest way!