III: IN THE TAVERN

Inwardly boiling

Boiling over in the mind
   anger and aggression
bitterly compel me to
   make you my confession:
made of earthly elements,
   dusty and decaying,
I'm a leaf that's blown about
   when the winds are playing.
Given that the proper thing
   for a man of wisdom
is to build upon a rock
   following a system
I must be a fool - for I'm
   like a winding river:
never holding to a course,
   deviating ever.
Like a boat that's lost its crew
   I'm for ever drifting,
like a bird that's blown about
   when the wind is lifting;
chains have never shackled me
   never key confined me -
let me join depravity,
   to my kind I bind me.
Seems to me, a serious mien
   means a serious weakness:
fun's a finer thing by far,
   vies with honey's sweetness:
Venus orders me about
   in a job I much like:
one she never offers to
   sobersides and suchlike.
Broad the path I travel down,
   in a youthful fashion:
virtue leaves me cold - it's vice
   that enflames my passion:
self-indulgence I desire
   more so than salvation:
dead my soul, my flesh demands
   sole consideration.

Roast Swan-song

Once I had lakes to live upon,
once gloriously I swam along,
once - when I used to be a swan.
   Poor thing, poor thing- not a raw thing
   but done like anything! Once I was whiter than the snow
Finer than any bird I know;
now see me - blacker than a crow!
   Poor thing, poor thing- not a raw thing
   but done like anything! Cook on the spit is curving me,
flames sear through every nerve in me -
now here's a waiter serving me!
   Poor thing, poor thing- not a raw thing
   but done like anything! I'd rather be in open air
out on a lake - or anywhere
but in this spiced-up gourmet fare.
   Poor thing, poor thing- not a raw thing
   but done like anything! Now in a serving dish I lie
and I have lost the power to fly -
and grinding molars greet the eye.
   Poor thing, poor thing- not a raw thing
   but done like anything!

The Abbott of Cockaigne

I am the abbot of Cockaigne,
and I take counsel with my drinking companions,
and my persuasion is that of the gambling fraternity,
and if anyone consults me in the tavern at matins,
come vespers, he'll have lost the shirt off his back:
and being thus stripped to his birthday suit will cry
   Save me! Save me!
What have you done, god-forsaken dice?
How you make us sacrifice
our only kind of paradise!
   Save me!

In the tavern

In the tavern when we're drinking,
though the ground be cold and stinking
down we go and join the action
with the dice and gaming faction.
What goes on inside the salon
where it's strictly cash per gallon
if you'd like to know, sir, well you
shut your gob and let me tell you. Some are drinking, some are playing,
some their vulgar side displaying:
most of those who like to gamble
wind up naked in the scramble;
some emerge attired in new things,
some in bits and bobs and shoestrings:
no one thinks he'll kick the bucket
dicing for a beery ducat. First to those who pay for wallowing,
then we layabouts toast the following:
next we drink to all held captive,
thirdly drink to those still active,
fourthly drink to the Christian-hearted,
fifthly drink to the dear departed,
sixthly to our free-and-easy sisters,
seventhly to all out-of-work enlisters. Eighthly drink to friars deconverted,
ninthly, monks from monast'ries diverted,
tenthly, sailors of the oceans,
eleventhly, louts who cause commotions
twelfthly, those who wear the penitential
thirteenth, and whose journey is essential;
to this fat pope, to that thin king
who the hell cares why they're drinking: Drinking tinker, drinking tailor,
drinking soldier, drinking sailor,
drinking rich man, drinking poor man,
drinking beggarman, thief and lawman,
drinking servant, drinking master,
drinking mistress, drinking pastor,
drinking doctor, drinking layman,
drinking drunkard, drinking drayman: Drinking rude man, drinking proper,
drinking tiddler, drinking whopper,
drinking scholar, drinking gypsy,
drinking drunk or maudlin tipsy,
drinking father, drinking mother,
drinking sister, drinking brother,
drinking husbands, wives and lovers
and a hundred thousand others - Half a million pounds would never
pay for all we drink together:
for we drink beyond all measure,
purely for the sake of pleasure:
thus you see us, poor and shoddy,
criticised by everybody -
God grant that they be confounded
when at last the trump is sounded!