And the red sun, at pride of noon,
I’ve seen drunk up by the pale moon.
Then why, friend, with me prove in ire,
That I to drink too feel desire?
LINES
FROM THE ITALIAN
“Repent, O repent!” said a Friar one day
To a reprobate wretch, as expiring he lay;
“As I came up the stairs, I was frightened to see
The devil who’s waiting to seize upon thee.”
“You saw him then truly?” “Too truly, alas!”
“And under what shape?” “Under that of an ass.”
“Well, well!” cried the sinner, “I am not afraid,
You’ve only been terrified by your own shade.”
A DRINKING SONG
O how my breast is glowing
When I am drinking wine;
And how my verse is flowing
In honour of the nine.
How vanish grief and sorrow
When I am drinking wine;
Each thought about the morrow,
Each project and design.