There's a slight fear- always a slight fear- that perhaps the poetic words of the man he loves aren't always said in truth. It lurks at the darkest corners of his mind, and it's a risk, a dare, to possibly drink this in his presence.

"I'm certain what I'll hear will be good." It's a confidence he has, because when hasn't Goody been good to him? He trusts that Goody's intentions, his thoughts, are just as poetic as his words usually are. He has to trust that.

"... What are you going to drink, then?"