Thy spiritual wine, that still charms ev’ry sense.
A beggar from me’s wine in fermentation!
Spheres lessons take from me in revolution!
With me wine gets drunk; I get not drunk with it.
From me body grows; I spring thence not one bit.
We’re bees, all of us; and our bodies, the wax;
With it we build cells to conceal our dark tracks.270
These considerations would grow longer still.
We’ll turn to our merchant. We left him so ill.
He thus, lamentations, sad groans, sadder moans,