Sanctimonious folk like you, filled with moral phrases,
May be sent, to your surprise, packing off to blazes;
While poor rogues like us, who drink ere the vintage fail us,
May be plucked to Paradise from this very alehouse.
CONSOLATION.
Weep not for the lost Yusuf, in Canaan his eyes shall close;
Weep not for your wasted garden, it shall blossom like the rose.
Weep not for your nights of revel, weep not for your days of tears,