Part 4 — THE JOVIAL PRIEST'S CONFESSION. TRANSLATED FROM THE LATIN OF WALTER DE MAPES, TIME OF HENRY II. LEIGH HUNT.

I devise to end my days—in a tavern drinking, May some Christian hold for me—the glass when I am shrinking. That the cherubim may cry—when they see me sinking, God be merciful to a soul—of this gentleman's way of thinking. A glass of wine amazingly—enlighteneth one's intervals; 'Tis wings bedewed with nectar—that fly up to supernals; Bottles cracked in taverns—have much the sweeter kernels, Than the sups allowed to us—in the college journals.

Every one by nature hath—a mold which he was cast in; I happen to be one of those—who never could write fasting; By a single little boy—I should be surpass'd in Writing so: I'd just as lief—be buried; tomb'd and grass'd in.

Every one by nature hath—a gift too, a dotation: I, when I make verses—do get the inspiration Of the very best of wine—that comes into the nation: It maketh sermons to astound—for edification.

Just as liquor floeth good—floweth forth my lay so; But I must moreover eat—or I could not say so; Naught it availeth inwardly—should I write all day so; But with God's grace after meat—I beat Ovidius Naso.

Neither is there given to me—prophetic animation, Unless when I have eat and drank—yea, ev'n to saturation, Then in my upper story—hath Bacchus domination And Phoebus rushes into me, and beggareth all relation.