The skinker kept plying my guests, from the shelf
O'er their heads, with the potable madness. No elf
Had need to persuade them a vine rose umbrageous,
Fruit-bearing, thirst-quenching! Enough! I confess
To many such fool-pranks, but none so outrageous
That Satan was called in to help me: excess
I own to, I grieve at—no more and no less.
Second Friend. Strange honors were heaped on thee—medal for breast,
Chain for neck, sword for thigh: not a lord of the land