That I rashly went forth, and I revelled
In riotous living last night?
Had the fumes of the goblet no odour
That well might repulse or restrain?
O insidious brandy and soda,
Our Lady of Pain.
Thou art golden of gleam as the summer
That smiled o’er a tropical sod,
O daughter of Bacchus, the bummer,
A foamer, a volatile tod!