When we would shuffle off our mortal score,
Must give us pause. There’s the respect
That makes sobriety of so long date;
For who could bear to hear the glasses ring
In concert clear—the chairman’s ready toast,
The pops of out-drawn corks—the “hip hurrah!”
The eloquence of claret—and the songs
Which often through the noisy revel break,
When a man might his quietus make
With a full bottle? Who would sober be,