XXXVI

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XXXVI

Alas! my stomach it betrays

With its exhilarating flow,

And I confess that now-a-days

I prefer sensible Bordeaux.

To cope with Ay no more I dare,

For Ay is like a mistress fair,

Seductive, animated, bright,

But wilful, frivolous, and light.

But thou, Bordeaux, art like the friend

Who in the agony of grief

Is ever ready with relief,

Assistance ever will extend,

Or quietly partake our woe.

All hail! my good old friend Bordeaux!