To Sillery now must abandon the field;
Falernian, nor Chian, could ne’er be so bold
To rival the nectar Ay’s sunny slopes yield.
As bright as the goblet it sparklingly fills
With diamonds in fusion, it foaming exhales
An odour ambrosial, the nostril that thrills,
Foretelling the flavour delicious it veils.
At first with false fury the foam-bells arise,
And creamily bubbling spread over the brim,
Till equally swiftly their petulance dies