“Repent, O repent!” said a Friar one day To a reprobate wretch, as expiring he lay;

“As I came up the stairs, I was frightened to see The devil who’s waiting to seize upon thee.”

“You saw him then truly?” “Too truly, alas!” “And under what shape?” “Under that of an ass.”

“Well, well!” cried the sinner, “I am not afraid, You’ve only been terrified by your own shade.”

p. 26A DRINKING SONG

p. 26

O how my breast is glowing When I am drinking wine; And how my verse is flowing In honour of the nine.

How vanish grief and sorrow When I am drinking wine; Each thought about the morrow, Each project and design.

Through roseate space I’m gliding When I am drinking wine; My spirit ’neath the guiding Of Bacchus, the divine.

p. 27I crown my head with flowers When I am drinking wine, And say: “Almighty powers, A quiet life be mine!”

p. 27

The air with sweets perfuming, When I am drinking wine, I sit with damsel blooming Beneath a spreading vine.

No thought am I concealing When I am drinking wine; My bosom’s all revealing, I sit beneath the vine.

My tongue I watch not over When I am drinking wine; My heart I all discover, And naught within confine.

* * * * *

p. 28London: Printed for THOMAS J. WISE, Hampstead, N.W. Edition limited to Thirty Copies.

p. 28

London

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