Master of the Cellar
|Fun:|| (2.37) |
|Difficulty:|| (2.63) |
To Benedictine cloth, sworn I,
With humble lot; my garb was dull.
But in the cellar; naught 'scaped my eye;
As I the grower's yield must cull.
I sought in all the best to do,
To prune the wand'ring vine to size,
And foreign substance all eschew,
The vintage fine to optimize.
To blindness tales I beg a lie;
Too, the myth my reputation scars,
That I to brothers gave the cry,
"Come quickly; I am drinking stars!"
Who am I?
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