Jovial Priest's Confession

I devise to end my days — in a tavern drinking; 
May some Christian hold for me — the glass when I am shrinking; 
That the Cherubim may cry — when they see me sinking, 
God be merciful to a soul — of this gentleman's way of thinking.

A glass of wine amazingly — enlighteneth one's internals; 
'Tis wings bedewed with nectar — that fly up to supernals; 
Bottles cracked in taverns — have much the sweeter kernels 
Than the sups allowed to us — in the college journals.

Every one by nature hath — a mould which he was cast in; 
I happen to be one of those — who never could write fasting; 
By a single little boy — I should be surpassed in 
Writing so: I'd just as lief — be buried, tombed and grassed in.

Every one by nature hath — a gift too, a dotation: 
I, when I make verses, — do get the inspiration
Of the very best of wine — that comes into the nation: 
It maketh sermons to abound — for edification. 
Just as liquor floweth good — floweth forth my lay so; 
But I must moreover eat — or I could not say so; 
Nought it availeth inwardly — should I write all day so; 
But with God's grace after meat — I beat Ovidius Naso.

Neither is there given to me — prophetic animation,
Unless when I have eat and drank — yea, e'en to saturation;
Then in my upper story — hath Bacchus domination,
And Phoebus rusheth into me, and beggareth all relation.