Pray, mix no more into the bowl, but know
That I dislike to have thee labor so,
Singing, carousing, gaily drinking,
As though all parched, of naught else thinking.
Why do we let the wintry morning breeze
Sweep ever idly o'er the glistening seas?
Would that a ship we quickly boarded,
Cutting it loose from where we moored it.
Then would we joyously the rudder seize,
And then the sail-yards turn to front the breeze,
Merrily thus forgetting evils--
Far better 'tis than boisterous revels.
