Fever sickness is a trial to me
Not drinking wine is with intention of curing me
See this strange thing, that whatever I drink in sickness
Save drinking wine everything hurts me


P 230

Worship and store' my ill-repute forpasseth;
Though thirty years life's tale (and yet more) passeth;
Brief, there's nought good save cup on cup, an hundred,
To drink, for that bridefeast and bride o'erpasseth. 

Th 755

A fever holds my bones, for sick am I,
And abstinence from wine my life doth try;
Behold this wonder, whate'er I consume
In sickness all save wine 's my injury.

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