Champagne with its foaming whirls/As white as Cleopatra's pearls.

The dew of compassion is a tear.

Still from the fount of joy's delicious springs Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings.

Be warm, be pure, be amorous, but be chaste.

And life 's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.

But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell.

I am as comfortless as a pilgrim with peas in his shoes - and as cold as Charity, Chastity or any other Virtue.