Let Us Have Peace

In maudlin spite let Thracians fight Above their bowls of liquor; But such as we, when on a spree, Should never brawl and bicker! These angry words and clashing swords Are quite _de trop_, I'm thinking; Brace up, my boys, and hush your noise, And drown your wrath in drinking. Aha, 't is fine,--this mellow wine With which our host would dope us! Now let us hear what pretty dear Entangles him of Opus. I see you blush,--nay, comrades, hush! Come, friend, though they despise you, Tell me the name of that fair dame,-- Perchance I may advise you. O wretched youth! and is it truth You love that fickle lady? I, doting dunce, courted her once; Since when, she's reckoned shady!