1645 - The Ditch is dear to the Drunken man
Чем, право, не кровать?
Взъерошенною святостью
Главы легко лежать,
Когда над нею небо,
Когда к гуляке в пыль
Склоняется забвенье,
А честь за много миль.
The Ditch is dear to the Drunken man
For is it not his Bed —
His Advocate — his Edifice?
How safe his fallen Head
In her disheveled Sanctity —
Above him is the sky —
Oblivion bending over him
And Honor leagues away.
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