Mute and silent have we sat,
Whilst the blockheads prated,
And above e'en song divine
Have their babblings rated;
To account we've even call'd us
For the moments that enthrall'd us,
With enjoyment freighted.
If thou'lt absolution grant
To thy true ones ever,
We, to execute thy will,
Ceaseless will endeavour,
From half-measures strive to wean us,
Wholly, fairly, well demean us,
Resting, flagging never.
At all blockheads we'll at once
Let our laugh ring clearly,
And the pearly-foaming wine