"Look how old Anacreon staggers from wine, bent over a smooth stone. Look at those greedy, languid eyes, as he pulls his cloak over his knees. Drunk, he has lost one sandal and slips his wrinkled right foot into the other. And he sings for his beloved Batillo or for Megisteo, softly playing his lyre. Father Dionysus, watch over him: it does not seem right to me that a servant of Bacchus should fall because of Bacchus."
Created by d'Araprì