Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before I swore - but was I sober when I swore? And then and then came Spring, and Rose-in-hand My thread-bare Penitence apieces tore.

Indeed the Idols I have loved so long Have done my credit in this World much wrong: Have drown'd my Glory in a shallow Cup And sold my Reputation for a Song.

And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel, And robb'd me of my Robe of Honour - Well, I wonder often what the Vintners buy One half so precious as the stuff they…

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.