On a Wine of Horace’s
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?