Dreary dungeons' iron jaws,
Oar and gibbet—whips or wheels,
Let's never think
While thus me drink
Sweet Muscadine!
O life divine!
Chorus.—Here we sons of freedom dwell, &c.
Don Cæsar. Come, cavaliers, our carbines are loaded, our hearts are light: charge your glasses, Bacchus gives the word, and a volley makes us immortal as the rosy god.—Fire!
Spado. Ay, captain, this is noble firing—Oh, I love a volley of grape-shot.—Are we to have any sky-light in our cave?