Drink Is The Feast Of Reason And

Who Sees Pale Mammom Pine Amidst His Store, Sees But A Backward Steward For The Poor.

The Sound Must Seem An Echo To The Sense.

Who Are Next To Knaves? Those That Converse With Them.

No More The Mounting Larks, While Daphne Sings, Shall, List'ning, In Mid-air Suspend Their Wings.

Let Opening Roses Knotted Oaks Adorn, And Liquid Amber Drop From Every Thorn.