1   Start not—nor deem my spirit fled;      In me behold the only skull   From which, unlike a living head,      Whatever flows is never dull. 2   I lived, I loved, I quaffed, like thee:      I died: let earth my bones resign;   Fill up—thou canst not injure me;      The worm hath fouler lips than thine. 3   Better to hold the sparkling grape,      Than nurse the earth-worm’s slimy brood;   And circle in the goblet’s shape      The drink of gods, than reptile’s food. 4   Where once my wit, perchance, hath shone,      In aid of others’ let me shine;   And when, alas! our brains are gone,      What nobler substitute than wine? 5   Quaff while thou canst: another race,      When thou and thine, like me, are sped,   May rescue thee from earth’s embrace,      And rhyme and revel with the dead. 6   Why not? since through life’s little day      Our heads such sad effects produce;   Redeemed from worms and wasting clay,      This chance is theirs, to be of use.