Here it, then, for Bacchus week, the drunken song i’m singing out with wild dance and ecstatic charm. Hold high the cup. Hold out thy arm. Drink more the wine that overflows. It’s not the goblet but the drink, pour down the wine and let it sink, and carried thus around the man. Love is but a drunken song. Come join me in ecstatic dance, pour the wine, hold high the cup, love’s drunken song demands you to. Sweet chorus from the grape and vine has charmed you to an ecstatic dance of song of satyr and revelry, to inebriate your sober state.