XCI.

 Ah, with the Grape my fading life provide,
 And wash the Body whence the Life has died,
   And lay me, shrouded in the living Leaf,
 By some not unfrequented Garden-side.


XCII.

 That ev'n buried Ashes such a snare
 Of Vintage shall fling up into the Air
   As not a True-believer passing by
 But shall be overtaken unaware.


XCIII.

 Indeed the Idols I have loved so long
 Have done my credit in this World much wrong:
   Have drown'd my Glory in a shallow Cup,
 And sold my reputation for a Song.


XCIV.

 Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before
 I swore--but was I sober when I swore?
   And then and then came Spring, and Rose-in-hand
 My thread-bare Penitence apieces tore.


XCV.

 And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel,
 And robb'd me of my Robe of Honor--Well,
   I wonder often what the Vintners buy
 One half so precious as the stuff they sell.