What, fight with cups that should give joy?'Tis barbarous; leave such savage waysTo Thracians. Bacchus, shamefaced boy,Is blushing at your bloody frays.The Median sabre! lights and wine!Was stranger contrast ever seen?Cease, cease this brawling, comrades mine,And still upon your elbows lean.Well, shall I take a toper's partOf fierce Falernian? let our guest,Megilla's brother, say what dartGave the death-wound that makes him blest.He hesitates? no other hireShall tempt my sober brains. Whate'erThe goddess tames you, no base fireShe kindles; 'tis some gentle fairAllures you still. Come, tell me truth,And trust my honour—That the name?That wild Charybdis yours? Poor youth!O, you deserved a better flame!