Pelted with flowers as he on did pass,
Tipsily quaffing.
"Whence came ye merry damsels! whence came ye,
So many, and so many, and such glee?
"Why have ye left your bowers desolate,
Your lutes and gentler nature?
We follow Bacchus! Bacchus on the wing,
A conquering!
Bacchus, young Bacchus! good or ill betide,