Who hath wo? who hath sorrow? Who hath contentions? who hath plaint? Who hath wounds without cause? Who hath redness of eyes?
Those tarrying by the wine, Those going in to search out mixed wine.
See not wine when it showeth itself red, When it giveth in the cup its colour, It goeth up and down through the upright.
Its latter end -- as a serpent it biteth, And as a basilisk it stingeth.
Thine eyes see strange women, And thy heart speaketh perverse things.
And thou hast been as one lying down in the heart of the sea, And as one lying down on the top of a mast.
`They smote me, I have not been sick, They beat me, I have not known. When I awake -- I seek it yet again!'