XC

So while the Vessels one by one were speaking,

The little Moon look’d in that all were seeking:

And then they jogg’d each other, “Brother! Brother!

“Now for the Porter’s shoulder-knot a-creaking!”

* * * * * *

XCI

Ah, with the Grape my fading Life provide,

And wash the Body whence the Life has died,

And lay me, shrouded in the living Leaf,

By some not unfrequented Garden-side.

XCII

That ev’n my buried Ashes such a snare

Of Vintage shall fling up into the Air

As not a True-believer passing by

But shall be overtaken unaware.