To you, consummate drinkers, 
Though little be your drought, 
Good speed be to your tankards, 
And send the wine about. 
Let not the full decanter 
Sleep on its round, 
And may unheard-of banter 
In wit abound. 

If any cannot carry 
His liquor as he should, 
Let him no longer tarry, 
No place here for the prude. 
No room among the happy 
For modesty. 
A fashion only fit for clowns, 
Sobriety. 

If such by chance are lurking 
Let them be shown the door ; 
He who good wine is shirking, 
Is one of us no more. 
A death's head is his face to us, 
If he abide. 
Who cannot keep the pace with us, 
As well he died. 

 ... 

But between god and goddess, 
Let there no marriage be, 
For he whose name is Liber 
Exults in liberty. 
Let none his single virtue 
Adulterate, 
Wine that is wed with water is 
Emasculate. 

Queen of the sea we grant her, 
Goddess without demur, 
But to be bride to Bacchus 
Is not for the like of her. 
For Bacchus drinking water 
Hath no man seen; 
Nor ever hath his godship 
Baptized been.