The champagne mounting in my head,
Not knowing how I got to bed;
And, waking with the dawn, I've found
The room and bed-post turning round;
What time, in accents loud and clear,
My loving, lawful, lady dear,
With curtain'd privilege elate,
And heedless of my fallen state,
The round of all my faults doth tell;
Spite of my headache and my woes,