“Thou dost teach man’s tongue to stutter;
    He goes reeling in the gutter
      Who hath deigned to kiss thy lips;
    Hears men speak without discerning,
    Sees a hundred tapers burning
      When there are but two poor dips.

    “He who feels for thee soul’s hunger
    Is a murderer or whoremonger,
      Davus Geta Birria;
    Such are they whom thou dost nourish;
    With thy fame and name they flourish
      In the tavern’s disarray.

    “Thou by reason of thy badness
    Art confined in prison sadness,
      Cramped and small thy dwellings are: 
    I am great the whole world over,
    Spread myself abroad and cover
      Every part of earth afar.

    “Drink I yield to palates burning;
    They who for soul’s health are yearning,
      Need the aid that I have given;
    Since all pilgrims, at their praying,
    Far or near, I am conveying
      To the palaces of heaven.”

    Wine replied:  “What thou hast vaunted
    Proves thee full of fraud; for granted
      That thou earnest ships o’er sea,
    Yet thou then dost swell and riot;
    Till they wreck thou hast no quiet;
      Thus they are deceived through thee.

    “He whose strength is insufficient
    Thee to slake with heat efficient,
      Sunk in mortal peril lies: 
    Trusting thee the poor wretch waneth,
    And through thee at length attaineth
      To the joys of Paradise.

    “I’m a god, as that true poet
    Naso testifies; men owe it
      Unto me that they are sage;
    When they do not drink, professors
    Lose their wits and lack assessors
      Round about the lecture-stage.

    “’Tis impossible to sever
    Truth from falsehood if you never
      Learn to drink my juices neat. 
    Thanks to me, dumb speak, deaf listen,
    Blind folk see, the senses glisten,
      And the lame man finds his feet.

    “Eld through me to youth returneth,
    While thine influence o’erturneth
      All a young man’s lustihead;
    By my force the world is laden
    With new births, but boy or maiden
      Through thy help was never bred.”

    Water saith:  “A god thou!  Just men
    By thy craft become unjust men,
      Bad, worse, worst, degenerous! 
    Thanks to thee, their words half uttered
    Through the drunken lips are stuttered,
      And thy sage is Didymus.

    “I will speak the truth out wholly: 
    Earth bears fruit by my gift solely,
      And the meadows bloom in May;
    When it rains not, herbs and grasses
    Dry with drought, spring’s beauty passes,
      Flowers and lilies fade away.

    “Lo, thy crooked mother pining,
    On her boughs the grapes declining,
      Barren through the dearth of rain;
    Mark her tendrils lean and sterile
    O’er the parched earth at their peril
      Bent in unavailing pain!