Wrinkled ostler, grim and thin!
Here is custom come your way;
Take my brute, and lead him in,
Stuff his ribs with mouldy hay....
I am old, but let me drink;
Bring me spices, bring me wine;
I remember, when I think,
That my youth was half divine....
Fill the cup, and fill the can:
Have a rouse before the morn: