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In cellar deep I sit and keep
My soul from cares opressing,
Companion mine the good Rhine wine,
Earth's sweetest truest blessing.
With solemn pate let wisdom prate
Of what we should be thinking;
Give me my glass, my days shall pass
In drinking, drinking, drinking.

In woman's smile there may be guile,
She's skilled in arts deceiving,
And she may be most false to me
When most I am believing.
Friends more sincere I cherish here,
While lips to glass I'm linking,
And comfort true the whole year thro'
Is drinking, drinking, drinking.

Then come what may, Hope's brightest ray,
Or darkest cloud of sorrow,
My wine-cup still I'll gaily fill
And fear not for the morrow.
If asked what joy can never cloy,
What keeps man's heart from sinking;
Aloud its name I will proclaim
Is drinking, drinking, DRINKING!

(Harry Hunter)