‘Tisn’t all Hock—with us—
Life has its Ale—
But it’s many a lay of the Dim Burgundy—
We chant—for cheer—when the Wines—fail—
Do we ‘get drunk’?
Ask the jolly Clovers!
Do we ‘beat’ our ‘Wife’?
I—never wed—
Bee—pledges his—in minute flagons—
Dainty—as the trees—on our deft Head—
While runs the Rhine—
He and I—revel—
First—at the vat—and latest at the Vine—
Noon—our last Cup—
‘Found dead’—’of Nectar’—
By a humming Coroner—
In a By-Thyme!

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