Calcutta nr. 18
Once more in the tavern I am called “the fool of wine”
To be a drunkard & a wine-worshipper is my lot
Here am I with the scrapings of food in this ruined monastery
This picture of infamy entirely describes me.
Here in this ruined corner, with wine and wanton met,
Hope, heart and soul and substance in pawn for wine we've set;
No hopes of mercy lure us nor fears of judgment fret;
Of earth, air, fire and water we're quit and all their let.