That have pulled so long at my flask, nor grudged
The headache that paid their pains, nor budged
From bunghole before they sighed and judged
"Too rough for our taste, to-day, befits
The racy and right when the years conclude!"
Out on ingratitude!
Grateful or ingrate—none,
No cowslip of all my fairy crew
Shall help to concoct what makes you wink,
And goes to your head till you think you think!