Epig. 25. A Frolick to Capt. Baines the Poet being
Prisoner (for his Loyalty) in Whittington Goale.
1
Polihymnia
, lend me thy Lute,
And thou (my Bains) take the shrill Flute,
No rainie Hyades
Or the rude blasts at Seas
Can strike our Musick mute.
2
Drink thou to Peleus stout Sonne,
Or the Grand-Child of Laomedon,
With ardent zeale then I
Will flowing Cupps apply
To Pindar, Horace, and Anacreon.
3
'Tis sin for us to know
What Fate Jove will bestow,
What need we trie
Lillies Astrologie,
The Gods, at Westminster can truest show.
4
With Ivie Chaplets lets empale
Our Fronts, and though lodg'd in a Goale
(My loved Baines)
Did we were chaines
Their ratling should make Briscoes heart to faile.
5
Bring forth the Tun of sparkling Wine
Such as learn'd Flaccus tearm'd Divine,
Pierce its rough rind,
Leave none behind,
(Deare Baines) 'twill make our Faces shine.
6
Minerva, (O my Patronesse)
To thee I will my Faults confesse,
I am too Stoicall,
But yet can smile withall,
And now and then slip into loose excesse.
7
About with't, let us swill
Stand neare (boy) nimbly fill,
Sing, Jo, triumph crie,
Young C. hath Victorie,
Thanks powerfull Rector of Olympus Hill.
8
What though we do not weare
Laconick Purple, but are forc'd to beare
The frownes of slaves,
When in our graves,
Fame to our memories shall Pillars reare.
9
Foggie Cocytus we must view,
Nor can we the Eumenides eschew,
In Charons Wherrie
We both must Ferrie,
Then drink and Dance, Earths blisses are our due.