And its spirit divides ’twixt the head and the soul.
Though the Jove of our banquet no eagle can boast,
We’ll have plenty of “kites flying” all round our host:
Midst loud peals of laughter, undaunted we’ll sit,
And for flashes of lightning have flashes of wit:
Should his reverence perceive that our spirits are laid,
Then hot-pepper’d devils he’ll call to his aid,
And, all Christians surpassing, as Tantalus, see!
The more liquor we quaff, still the drier we’ll be!
But two modes of death sinful mortals should know,