  What time I read your mighty line, O Mr. Q. Horatius Flaccus, In praise of many an ancient wine— You twanged a wicked lyre to Bacchus!— I wondered, like a Yankee hick, If that old stuff contained a kick. So when upon a Paris card I glimpsed Falernian, I said: "Waiter, I'll emulate that ancient bard, And pass upon his merits later." Professor Mendell, quelque sport, Suggested that we split a quart. O Flaccus, ere I ceased to drink Three glasses and a pair of highballs, I could not talk; I could not think; For I was pickled to the eyeballs. If you sopped up Falernian wine How did you ever write a line? |
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