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Horace, Odes I.xxvii
Come comrades, cease your Thracian fights
O'er cups designed for better uses,
For moderate Bacchus ne'er delights
In bloody quarrels o'er his juices!
How far removed from lamps and wine
Should be the Median dagger keen!
Hush drunken clamour, friends of mine;
In quiet on your elbows lean.
You wish to have me taste my share
Of strong Falernian with the rest? -
Megilla's brother must declare
First, by what mortal wound he's blest.
Falters his will? - Then I'll not drink -
Come, tell us by what love you're swayed,
What fire consumed; -tut, man, don't shrink
To own a honest escapade!
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