| Crowned kings the bondmen of thy drowsed Narcissus-eyne are still |
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| Marry, what an idle story This of my renouncing wine is! |
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| From the garden of thy beauty If a fruit cull I, what is it? |
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| Show thy face and self's existence From my memory tear away |
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| That bitter wine I crave, whose might Man's wit and will oppresses |
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| This, for such as these the present Times, I see expedient |
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| Winecup and love and loveling I'll nevermore forsake |
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| Flask in hand and verse-reciting, Warm with wine and laughing-eyed |
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| Each man of happy sight, who would The way of heart's content fare |
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| No account of thee thou writest, Past although is many a day |
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