Indeed the Idols I have loved so long Have done my credit in this World much wrong; Have drown'd my Glory in a shallow Cup, And sold my Reputation for a Song. The inspiration for this quatrain comes from C. 170. When my mood inclined to prayer and fasting, I said that all my salvation was attained; Alas! that those Ablutions[88] are destroyed by my pleasures, And that Fast of mine is annulled by half a draught of wine. _Ref._: C. 170, L. 366, B. 362, S.P. 162, P. 343, B. ii. 207, T. 118.--W. 180, N. 162, V. 365. The last line is suggested by O. 22. XCIV. Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before I swore--but was I sober when I swore? And then and then came Spring, and Rose-in-hand My thread-bare Penitence apieces tore. This quatrain is inspired by C. 431. Every day I resolve to repent in the evening, Making repentance of the brimful goblet and cup; Now that the season of roses[89] has come, I cannot grieve Give penitence for repentance in the season of roses, O Lord! _Ref._: C. 431, L. 655, B. 647 B. ii. 510.--W. 425, V. 704. XCV. And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel, And robb'd me of my Robe of Honour--Well, I wonder often what the Vintners buy One half so precious as the stuff they sell. The original of this quatrain is O. 62. Although wine has rent my veil (of reputation), So long as I have a soul I will not be separated from wine; I am in perplexity concerning vintners, for they-- What will they buy that is better than what they sell? _Ref._: O. 62, C. 196, L. 350, B. 346, P. 311, B. ii. 167, T. 123, P. iv. 63, P. v. 202.--W. 208, N. 463, E.C. 11, V. 350. XCVI. Yet Ah, that Spring should vanish with the Rose! That Youth's sweet-scented manuscript should close! The Nightingale that in the branches sang, Ah whence, and whither flown again, who knows! This quatrain is translated from C. 223. Alas! that the book of youth is folded up? And that this fresh purple spring is winter-stricken;[90] That bird of joy, whose name is Youth, Alas! I know not when it came nor when it went. _Ref._: C. 223, L. 332, B. 328, S.P. 128, B. ii. 155, T. 161.--W. 155, N. 128, V. 334. XCVII.* Would but the Desert of the Fountain yield One glimpse--if dimly, yet indeed, reveal'd, To which the fainting Traveller might spring, As springs the trampled herbage of the field! This quatrain is inspired by C. 509. Oh! would that there were a place of repose, Or that we might come to the end of the road; Would that from the heart of earth, after a hundred thousand years, We might all hope to blossom again like the verdure. _Ref._: C. 509, L. 768, B. 754, S.P. 395, B. ii. 522.--W. 442, N. 400, V. 820. XCVIII.* Would but some wingéd Angel ere too late Arrest the yet unfolded Roll of Fate, And make the stern Recorder otherwise Enregister, or quite obliterate!