On the strange unfortunate breaking of a Glass in a Tavern

Happy mischance! if happy I may cal
What by so strange misfortune did befal!
The Ganymede that had perform'd its trust,
Discharg'd so many healths and them so just,
Brok of it self, and falling to the ground,
Foretold our fortunes if we kept the round.
Had it surviv'd the Nectar thence did flow
Our brains had crackt or els we faln as low.
But tel me little glass my quondam friend!
How didst thou come to this untimely end?
Did any fatal or unluckie hand
Throw thee to ruine 'gainst thy Joves command?
No: 'twas a stranger ful; I rather think,
The wine did make thee fal which thou didst drink.
Though the diviner sack Immortal bee,
The glasse that holds it yet may die I see.