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In chorus we sing, of wine, sweet wine, Its power benign, and its flavour divine. Against power so sweet No guard is secure, Nor gate, nor yet wall, Nor will castle endure, Nor doubtings, nor watchings, How strict or demure. Chorus. With thee the fair maiden Shows herself fairer, With thee has the matron New beauty to glare her; Ev'n the sad widow Finds love an ensnarer. Chorus. With thee the poor captive, Though heavy his chains, Ne'er feels in his feasting Or torments or pains, But a place with his lord As an equal he gains. Chorus.