Anacreon Bion. Moschvs. Kisses, by Secundus. Cvpid crvcified, by Ausonius. Venvs vigils, Incerto Authore [by Thomas Stanley] |
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The Debauche. |
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 | Anacreon |  |
92
The Debauche.
Let 's not rime the hours away;Friends! We must no longer play:
Brisk Lyæus (see!) invites
To more ravishing delights.
Let's give o're this Fool Apollo;
Nor his Fiddle longer follow:
Fye upon his forked Hill,
With his Fiddlestick and Quill;
And the Muses, though they're gamesome,
They are neither young nor handsome;
And their Freaks in sober sadnesse
Are a meer Poetick Madnesse:
Pegasus is but a Horse,
He that follows him is worse.
See the Rain soaks to the skin,
Make it rain as well within.
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All night revel, rant, and quaffe;
Till the Morn stealing behind us
At the Table sleeplesse finde us.
When our Bones (alasse) shall have
A cold lodging in the Grave,
When swift Death shall overtake us,
We shall sleep and none can wake us.
Drink we then the juice o'th' Vine,
Make our breasts Lyæus Shrine;
Bacchus, our debauche beholding,
By thy Image I am moulding,
Whilst my Brains I do replenish
With this draught of unmixt Rhenish;
By thy full-branch'd Ivy Twine;
By this sparkling Glasse of Wine;
By thy Thyrsus so renown'd;
By the Healths with which th'art crown'd;
By the Feasts which thou do'st prize;
By thy numerous Victories;
By the Howls by Mænad's made;
By this Hau-gou Carbonade;
By thy colours, red and white;
By the Tavern thy delight;
By the sound thy Orgies spred;
By the shine of Noses red;
By thy Table free for all;
By the jovial Carnivall;
By thy language Cabalistick;
By thy Cymbal, Drum and his stick;
By the Tunes thy Quart-pots strike up;
By thy Sighes, the broaken Hick-up;
94
By thy never-tamed Panthers;
By this sweet, this fresh and free air;
By thy Goat, as chaste as We are;
By thy fulsome Cretan Lasse;
By the Old Man on the Asse;
By thy Couzins in mix'd shapes;
By the flowre of fairest Grapes;
By thy Biskes fam'd far and wide;
By thy store of Neats-tongues dry'd;
By thy Incense, Indian smoake;
By the Joyes thou dost provoke;
By this salt Westphalia Gammon;
By these Sauz'iges that inflame one;
By thy tall Majestick Flaggons;
By Mas, Tope, and thy Flap-dragons;
By this Olive's unctuous savour;
By this Ownge, the Wines flavour;
By this Cheese orerun with Mites;
By thy dearest Favorites;
To thy frolick Order call us,
Knights of the deep Bowle install us;
And to shew thy self divine,
Never let it want for Wine.
| Anacreon | |