We charged against the ancient taverns.
O thou in whose cup is old wine,
A wine so hot that the glass is well-nigh turned to water, 1590
Wilt thou in thy pride and arrogance and self-conceit
Taunt us with our emptiness?
Our cup, too, hath graced the symposium;
Our breast hath owned a spirit.
A new age hath been endued with our beauty 1595
And hath risen from the dust of our feet.
Our blood hath watered God’s harvest,