In consort, but indents the streete.[22]
The spring-sleepe did his temples lode,
As on a long-eard asse he rode:
Laughters excesse, to see him nod,
Dissolv'd the bosome of the God.
Fresh cups he ever cals uppon,
In sounds of imperfection,
With age and Bacchus overgon,
They stop his voyces organon.
Amongst this gamesome crew is seene,