And sun and moon are all on quaffing set,
Why should you quarrel, my good friends, with me,
Because I love a pot of heavy wet?
Θελω λεγειν Ατρειδας
I wished the two Atreidæs’ fame to sing,
And woke my lyre to a bold martial strain,
In vain, alas! for when I touched the string,
The song to love and Cupid turned again.
I changed my string, then my whole lyre, I vow
Nought would come out but sentiment and sighs,