'Our man on the moon drinks claret’. He too,
Like Santa's mail and our faces,
Is illuminated by fire.
His beauty has us all desire
To visit and admire his quarters.
‘If he doth so, why should not you
Drink until the sky looks blue?’ True,
Through misfortune or mischief he’s been damned.
Sentenced perpetually for imprisonment yet,
Let us not forget, he was there
When the Earth was set
And we ought to thank him for our being.
However, seeing such a life must brew wicked ways
And unforgiveable pleasures.
Fools dance with the drunken sage
At non exchangeable measures.