OD roaring pistol-boys, brave lads of gold, Good roistering easy maids, blown cock-a-hoop On floods of tavern-steam,
I greet you!
Drunk With wild Canary, drowned in wines of old, I'll swear your round, red faces dive and swim Like clouds of fire-fish in a waxen tide, And these are seas of smoke we thieves behold. Yet I've a mind I know what arms enchain With flesh my shoulders . . . aye, and what warm legs Wind quickly into mine . . . 'tis no pale mermaid, No water-wench that floats in a smoky main Betwixt the tankard and my knees . . . in faith, I know thee,
Joan, and by the beard of God, I'll prove to-night thy mortal parts again! Leap, leap, fair vagabonds, your lives are short . . . Dance firelit in your cauldron-fumes,
O thieves, Ram full your bellies with spiced food, gulp deep Those goblets of thick ale—yea, feast and sport, Ye Cyprian maids—lie with great, drunken rogues, Jump by the fire—soon, soon your flesh must crawl And Tyburn flap with birds, long-necked and swart!
