Through quaffing craft: yet wine my witts confound,
Not of which I dranke,[1166] but wherein I drownd.[1167]
3.
What prince I am, although I neede not shewe,
Because my wine betrayes mee by the smell:
For neuer creature was[1168] soust in Bacchus dew
To death, but I, through fortune’s rigour fell:
Yet that thou maist my story better tell,
I will declare as briefly as I may,
My welth, my woe, and causers of decay.