Classic Poem

Change we our theme, there's too much song of love. It is but noise, let's sing the pruning-hook; all dressers of the vine make use of it, their helper in the trimming of the vine. O pruning-hook, O little pruning-hook, by thee the little vine is tumbled down whereby each year the good wines issue forth!
Vulcan, the god, the high gods' blacksmith, in heaven forged the sharp pruning-hook of fine steel tempered in old wine to make it sharper and more valiant! Bacchus doth praise it, says 'tis good and right that good-man Noah should have it to prune the vine-yards in their season.
In those days Bacchus wore a hat of straw and came to bless the vine; Silenus followed with his flasks and drank as straight as any line; and then he staggers, gives himself a bump; red is his nose as a bob-cherry, and many a one is born of his good stock!