Drinking song

To you, consummate drinkers,

Though little be your drought,

Good speed be to your tankards,

And send the wine about.

Let not the full decanter

Sleep on its round,

And may unheard-of banter

In wit abound.

If any cannot carry

His liquor as he should,

Let him no longer tarry,

No place here for the prude.

No room among the happy

For modesty.

A fashion only fit for clowns,

Sobriety.

If such by chance are lurking

Let them be shown the door;

He who good wine is shirking,

Is one of us no more.

A death's head is his face to us,

If he abide.

Who cannot keep the pace with us,

As well he died.

Should any take upon him

To drink without a peer,

Although his legs go from him,

His speech no longer clear,

Still for his reputation

Let him drink on,

And swig for his salvation

The bumper down.

But between god and goddess,

Let there no marriage be,

For he whose name is Liber

Exults in liberty.

Let none his single virtue

Adulterate,

Wine that is wed with water is

Emasculate.

Queen of the sea we grant her,

Goddess without demur,

But to be bride to Bacchus

Is not for such as her.

For Bacchus drinking water

Hath no man seen;

Nor ever hath his godship

Baptized been.