Throughout this year I duly have restrained Every habitual vice excepting drink, From which, it’s true, I have not quite refrained, But God’s forgiven me for that, I think. Each morn it seems to me when I arise, As if my body were filled up with salt; Then say who would forbear, however wise, From washing out his mouth? It’s not my fault. I only want Vernaccia or Greek wine, I loathe your common house wine, which is sour, As sour as my wife, and so I hate it. God bless the man who first improved the vine, To which I owe full many a happy hour; I’ll never say a word to denigrate it.
Throughout this year I duly have restrained Every habitual vice excepting drink, From which, it’s true, I have not quite refrained, But God’s forgiven me for that, I think. Each morn it seems to me when I arise, As if my body were filled up with salt; Then say who would forbear, however wise, From washing out his mouth? It’s not my fault. I only want Vernaccia or Greek wine, I loathe your common house wine, which is sour, As sour as my wife, and so I hate it. God bless the man who first improved the vine, To which I owe full many a happy hour; I’ll never say a word to denigrate it.