Who sipp’d with me Divinity,
And guaff’d the ruby grape!
No flummery then from flowery lips,
No three times three and hip-hip-hips,
Because I’m ripe and full of pips—
I like a little green.
To put me on my solemn oath,
If sweep-like I could stop my growth
I would remain, and nothing loth,
A boy—about nineteen.