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.


P 144

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.

Th 502

In Love's inn glorious is this name of mine,
My lot is drinking and to worship wine;
I am the world's soul in this Magian cell,
My body this life's image is, in fine.

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