XII XIII
Wherefore I duly will invoke the God For truth it is, my maiden, we have had
Of Tears that he may mingle yours and mine, Already more than our fair share of pleasure.
Water therewith Life’s unresponsive sod, The good god Dionysus ivy-clad
And raise therefrom some sickly growth of vine Hath poured us out a draught of brimming measure.
Whose grape shall yield a bitter draught of woe Let us then rather give the lustiest praise
Fit for the assuaging of a deadlier thirst Our throats can sound than pray for further favour;
Than Attis knew or Abelard: even so Even though our sorrow, eating up our days,
I suffer; than some lovely nun accurst Devour us also. Gods enjoy the savour
Who beats her breast upon the convent bars, Of Man's thanksgiving ; from their holy place
Even so you suffer : let its draught restore Beholding mortals, they are wroth to see
All lovers (that invoke the sad cold stars) Tears ; they rejoice to see a proud glad face
Unto good luck : then you and I once more Master of itself and of eternity.
(Though still we were forbidden word and kiss) Let us, reflecting on how dear we love,
Might find a certain happiness in this. Shew laughter and courage to the gods above !
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