Wormwood and rue be on his tongue And ashes on his head, Who chills the feast and checks the song With emblems of the dead! By young and jovial, wise and brave, Such mummers are derided. His sacred rites shall Bacchus have, Unspared and undivided. Coucht by my friends, I fear no mask Impending from above, I only fear the latter flask That holds me from my love. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO ELIZABETH, COUNTESS OF RUTLAND by BEN JONSON ON THE SLAIN AT CHICKAMAUGA by HERMAN MELVILLE THE ANGEL OF PATIENCE by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER THE WHITE CHARGER by ABUS SALT TARQUIN AND THE AUGUR by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 36 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |