Now let us sport us while we may, / And now, like amorous birds of prey, ...
Let us roll all our strength and all / Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife / Through the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun / Stand still, yet we will make him run.

... Beware! Beware! / His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice, / And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed, / And drunk the milk of Paradise."

Fill up the glasses and drink once again / To peace on this earth and good will among men.

Let the toast pass, / Drink to the lass, / I'll warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass. self-YART