ODE XI.
[And now 'tis Faire; how shall wee Spend the Day?]
1
And now 'tis Faire; how shall wee Spend the Day?
Manage the lustie Steed?
Or see the Eager Hounds pursue the pray;
And laugh to see him bleed?
How shall wee run the ling'ring howers away?
2
Goe see the Gallant Falcon, from her wings,
The Qvarrie Strike?
Or stay to heare Hermogenes, who Sings
Soe Angel-like?
Or see the ffouler lay his treacherous Strings?
3
Or with the baited Hooke, in Deviae's Streame,
Begvile the simple Trout?
Or rather take a Gun, and warre proclaime
To all the Birds about?
Or Sitt and talke, and make the Times our Theame?
4
And where wee faile, the pleasures of the House
Shall our Discourse supplie.
Plumpe Bacchus makes the heart glad, when he flowes
In Cups not niggardlie:
Or shall wee wage, what wee fear not to loose?
5
Some toy at Dice or Cards? Or will you tosse
A Ball att Tenis? Or
Let's boule an hower or two, with the same losse;
Our Time wee loose, noe more.
Or Billiards? or what Else you will propose?
6
Come, shall wee wanton with a Ladie's Eye,
And Appetite provoke?
Or keep the Round of good Societie,
In high-pris'd Indian Smoke?
And let the novice breake the Pipes, lye by?
7
Let's this, or any these; which you like best
Pursue. The Day growes old:
The Sun is halfe his Iourney to the west;
But if to-morrow hold,
With better Pleasures wee will be refresht.
8
Were we but now made dull with Stormie Ayre?
And shall wee use it thus?
That Day which (Doubtles) heaven did prepare,
To fitt vs, in an vse
More Noble; which wee Loose, ere wee'are aware.
9
Come, take thy Qvill along, my Sober Muse,
And wee will find a place
Where wee may freelie Sing, and shade our Browes,
Vnder some Mirtle base;
Such humble Shrubs my Thoughts doe rather Chuse.
10
Or shall wee, vnder crooked Hawthorne Sitt,
And our Sad ffancies dresse?
Or rather chuse our lovéd Elme, and fitt
Notes to our heavinesse?
Not Emulous of ffame, nor Glorious of witt.
11
However, where wee Sitt, or what wee Sing,
The Day shall be made short,
In sober recreations; when the wing
Of ffancie flyes to sport,
Heaven, Ayre, Earth, Water, all their beauties bring.
12
And be the Day or Clear or cloudie Dull,
Our pleasure is the Same;
To-morrowe's Expectation cannot gull
Our Thoughts, in their true Ayme;
Nor take from what wee seeke, in obiects full.
13
Thus then, he pleasure only doth enioy,
Whose pleasure is not tyed,
In change of time, to quicken or destroy;
But, more securely ride,
All winds and weathers, with a Constant Ioye.
Him, nor the Angrie Heavens can Affright,
Nor Serene Skies please, with a better Light.
