Chorus'd the praise of wine and love,
Choicest of all the gifts of Jove.
Euripides, whose tragic breast
No yielding fair one ever press'd,
At length in his obdurate heart
Felt love's revengeful rankling dart,
* * * * * *
'Till vengeance met him in the way,
And bloodhounds made the bard their prey.
Philoxenus, by wood-nymphs bred