WHEN fumes of Wine ascend into my brain, Care sleeps, and I the bustling world disdain, Nor all the wealth of Croesus I esteem, I sing of mirth, for Jollity's my theme. With garlands, I my ruby temples crown, Keeping rebellious thoughts of business down; In broils, and wars, while others take delight, I with choice friends indulge my appetite. Then fetch more bottles, Boy, and charge us round, We'll fall to Bacchus, victims on the ground; Nor value what dull moralists have said, I'm sure 'tis better to be drunk, than dead. |