In praise of Bakchos Anne that sweet musician sung,
Of Bakchos ever fair and ever young:
The jolly god in triumph comes;
Sound the trumpets; beat the drums;
Flush'd with a purple grace
He shows his honest face:
Now give the lady breath; he comes, he comes.
Bakchos, ever fair and young
Drinking joys did first ordain;
Bakchos' blessings are a treasure’
Drinking is the householder’s pleasure;
Rich the treasure,
Sweet the pleasure,
Sweet is pleasure after pain.
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Oi, Bakchos, where the heck are you? More prose, more prose!
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