ANACREON Done into English Out of the Original Greek.  
Nec quicquid olim lusit Anacreon  
Delevit aetas—  
OXFORD, Printed by L. Lichfield Printer to the University, for Anthony Stephe●… Bookseller near the Theatre, 1683.   

THE PREFACE.  
THE Great Inducement that drew on my Genius to this bold attempt, was the desire of communicating to the World those hidden Sweets, that pretty Diversion that long time lay undiscovered in this Author; as also the tempting Pattern set by the unimitable Mr. Cowley: where he has rendered part of this Author so lively in an English dress, that I began to esteem it of almost equal Beauty with the Original. But when I considered the loss of those many Infinuating advantages the Author had over the Ears of his Auditors; To whom the Unaccessible Graces of that Language, the Delicacies of his Wit and Style, dished up with all the Tickling Art of Music, could not but yield a very pleasant Gust. And now that the same Copied out in a less copious Tongue, and without that ●…dditionary●…uty ●…uty of the Attuning Harp, which was customary in those days, should equally relish with us; I am apt to conclude next of Kin to an Impossibility.  
To supply therefore these defects; I have in a Loser Method, but according to the forementioned Pattern▪ Englished this Author with a Parallel fancy of my own here and there interwoven, but as I d●…re aver, nothing derogatory to the sense of▪ the Author; And however this Method may seem to some to be only the wanton Sallies of a ranging Fancy, and the too licentious play of a Poetical Mind; yet I can easily satisfy myself that 'tis nothing but what is authorized by Mr. Cowley nothing but what is adapted to his Model; which whoever takes the pains to read will at first sight discover, when he views his Verses here interserted; which at first I designed to have put in different Characters, but afterwards I recalled those thoughts, knowing that no one could be a pretender to Poetry, who is wholly, Ignorant of his Works, or cannot with a Cursory glance discern his finer strokes from my mean Endeavours. I must confess I am willing to Patronise this fluenter kind of Version which I cannot call properly either Imitation or Translation but rather impute it to be somewhat which as yet wants a Name.  
Neither do I look upon this to indulge too much Liberty, but only to grant a freer Range to sense and Reason: I profess myself an utter Enemy to the too narrow tye of a verbal Translation, and when I chance to spy an Author of this kind who has slavishly confined himself to the least Particle of his Original; Methinks it looks as if not only the Motion of the Body (according to Des-Cartes opinion) but that of the Mind too was performed by Mechanism; All his uneasy production seems so forced, so much strived for, as if his Wit like the Goddess of it could not be produced without the Labour of the Brain; And this methinks is the ready way of Burlesquing both himself and the Author.  
This gross failure I have made it my business all along to avoid, and have affected a decent Naturallness, so that my Love Verses might run as soft and easy as the Subject; my Rants and Drunken Songs might be so far proportionable, as to seem the hectoring Efforts of a Debouchè; in which I am afraid I have been guilty of the most Erratas because being not well acquainted with those vices, I was forced to preposses my mind with a debauched fancy and then write with all the extravagancy of Thought.  
But now lest some Novice in Poetry should pretend to Criticise upon the unevenness of the Verse, I must be bold 〈◊〉 to tell him, that I esteem it the greatest Excellency; and am strangely taken with Horace for observing this Idiom in his Sermo's, where his sense is not confined to an affected smoothness but seems undesignedly to happen into Verse; 
* Plat●… Lib. 3. de Rep. Page 400.  and as if he took Plato's Opinion in this case for a Standard, when he tells us, that the Verse ought to observe those Cadencies required by the sense, and to be squared to that; and not the Sense to the Verse. This therefore is sufficient plea for those seeming Errors, which might trapan an unjudieio●…s Reader into false Criticisms.  
And as for the common Expressions I have made use of in this Piece, they were altogether designed; and not on purpose to help out with unseemly Bodges the de●…icient Rhyme, but to avoid that reprehension, the Tragedians of old lay under according to the sentiments of Ariphrades, 
* Aristot. de Ar●… po. cap. 22.  who condemned 'em for deviating from the usual Dialect of Speaking. Which indeed in my opnion is no small failure; and Aristotle himself owns that they derogated much from his 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 or property belonging to Poesy.  
As for the licentious gingling of the Rhymes, no one will have reason to judge it an Innovation, if he does with a nice scrutiny examine into some of the Verles in an Ode here imitated by the Auhor of the Satyrs against the Jesuits: and I am very willing to favour this way and could almost wish blank Verse were much invogue, knowing very well it would give the Fancy fairer play, being not imprisoned within the narrow limits of Rhyme; thus far I have apologiz●…d for those licenses I have here indulged myself; and that no one after this might Cavil at the design of this Piece, where vice seems to be so gaudily apparelled on purpose to draw over some to be its Proselytes, I would have the Reader know that this is far from the intent of the Author, who only designed it as an innocent recreation to divert the Mind after it has been ●…eized with the long fatigue of Business, and to fill up those vacant hours appropriated to Mirth; and also with insinuating delight to please the Ladies: for whom great part of this Book (viz. That product, those enamou●…ing features of Love so prettily delineated by this Author) was peculiarly intended: in rendering which the only thing I have to glory in is; that whereas I have had such enticements to use a wantonness of Speech, and in the plainness of Language to display the Ladies Naked; yet I have been so decently Modest, as not to admit of one expression that may adulterate the chastest thoughts of a Nun, or exact a Blush from the most reserved of that Sex. I shall only now desire the Ladies favourably to accept this, and bless it with their Approbation; then I shall be exempted from the fear of any illnatured Critieks, being well assured that as for the Generality of men they are so much theirs, so much bound in Cmplaisance to Will and Nill the same, that to dislike what the Ladies approve, were in some Measure to contradict themselves. From these therefore I beg that my applause may be uttered with all the Emphasis of a Smile; yet this alas would be too much, and only render me more unhappy; I should then begin to envy even my own work, and account it my happier Rival; nor could I propose to myself any other means of satisfaction, then by wishing they would by a kind Metonymy accept the Author for his Book.  S. B.  

The Life of ANACREON.  
ANACREON was a Poet famous for Lyriques' amongst the Grecians, and according to Strabo an Inhabitant of the City Teios; whence he took the denomination of Te●…us, and whence we read in Ovid Teia Mu●… about whose Parents the Antiquarians are of different Opinions, and seem dubious on whom to confer that Honour. Some would have his Father to be Scythinus, others Eumelus, others say his name was Parthemus or Aristocritus▪ I shall not therefore endeavour to reconcile these differences, but were I to guests at his Genealogy, biased by the delicious Wantonness of his Style: I should be apt to conjecture, that Bacchus had sometime stolen the Marriage-Sweets of Venus, and palliated his crime with this offspring.  
His life was a continued Scene of Delight, and his Body seemed, instead of a Soul, to be informed with nothing but Love. He was much enslaved with the Masculine Love of a Beautiful Boy named Bathyllus; as we may easily apprehend by his often mentioning of him throughout his whole Book, as also by that of Horace.  

Non aliter Samio dicunt arsisse Bathyllo  
Anacreonta Teium.—   
Nor was he less enamoured with the powerful charms of his Mistress Eurypile; for whose affection he determined his Genius so to Love-Verses, that Cicero says of him, His Poetry is all o'er a treatise of Amours. Which I am apt to imagine a mistake, knowing that Bacchus equally shares in it, and he never separated those two chief Ingredients of an Epicurean's happiness, Women and Wine. To the Latter of these he seemed to owe all his Enthusiasm, all the youthful vigour of his Old Age: he was so actuated, so enlivened with this, as if, when his own Spirits decayed, Those of Wine became vital. He was much addicted to the vice of Drinking, whence he was reproachfully entitled by some 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, and the Athenians (as Pansanias relates in his description of Greece) erected his Statue in a Drunken posture. There goes a very pleasant Story of him, that once having took a Cup too much of the Creature, he came staggering homewards through the Market place, and ●…eeling against a Nurse with a Child in her Arms named Cleobulus, he had almost beat her down; nor did he c●…ave her pardon for this Offence, but injured her as much afterwards which a scornful, hectoring reply: upon which the Nurse begged that the Justice of Heaven would take it into consideration, and prayed that he might be hereafter with all the Tyranny of af●…ectionate Passion as much endeared to the Child ●…s now he abhorred it.  
Now after Cleobulus was past his Infancy, he ●…ecame so strangely beautiful, that Nature seem●…d extravagant in bestowing all her charms upon ●…ne face; and the Gods being mindful of the ●…urse's request inflicted upon Anacreon the sweet●…evenge ●…evenge of Love, as appears in some of his mai●…ed pieces, where he draws up this Petition to ●…he God of Love.  

Tu propitius ●…neras exaudi preces,  
Fave Cleobulo, suscipe amorem meum.   
But Athenaeus is of Opinion that this Poet was not so much given to debauchery and seems ●…o clear him from the crime of Drunkenness; when he says,▪ 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Lib. 10. Dei●…: Fol. 429. that he only played the Counterfeit as much in composing his drunken Songs, as I have in translating them.  
As▪ for the other part of his Verses▪ those L●…es of Love, and b●…s for delight, they seem by a kind of Sympathy to be co●…le to his Life, and maintain an equal Correspondence with Mitth and Pleasure: so that by the lusciousness of his Style, and neatness of Wit, he got himself no small repute amongst the Ancients; some of which dignified him with the title of the delicious Anacrean, the Honey-Poet; And Plato, though a very nice Philosopher who allows of no pleasure but that in the Abstract; who terms the gross enjoyment of the sensual Appetite a Brute delight, ●…nd accounts that refined bliss the Marriage of Souls a property only entailed on rationals; yet he was so overswayed with the Poetical Philtres of of Anacreon, as to sign his approbation of a more substantial delight in gratifying the Senses, and abandon that airy notion of pleasure, as a shadow of Solid joy, a mere creature of ●…ancy; when he calls this Author the wise Anacreon: Whose Morals tell us he was a great Abetter of Epicurism, he placed his Summum Bonum in the gross embraces of delight and all his Actions tended to that as to their Centre; he pronounced to his Mind the Poet's Requiem, Aetate fruere, Enjoy thy Life; and if any hour slipped away without Mirth he accounted it misspent, and himself guilty of the crime of Idleness; he abandoned all gravity and Wisdom as bold Incroachers upon the liberties of Pleasure; Business was a mere stranger to his mind, nor did ever the turbulent thoughts of that discompose the calmness of his Breast: Nay what most of all commands our Admiration is, that when he was under the severe Discipline of Age when nothing is becoming but to be Morose, and commence a Dissenter in Jollity; to see how Love overpowered all these Tyrants, and a Smile could pry out some kind crannies to peep through his wrinkled looks, how he could be capable at this Winter of his Life to be inflamed with Love!  
As if Nature had privileged in him, a familiar Society, a friendly Neighbourhood betwixt two Contraries, Heat and Cold. I am apt methinks now to credit the theft of Prometheus, or subscribe to the tenet os Heraclitus Physicus, that his Soul owed its being to fire: when I see it so often flash out in wanton sparks of Love, and betray the flame within, when he writes with all the heat of Passion: But 'tis said besides these Lovesongs he composed several Elegies, and iambics, and several other Pieces of Poetry, which the World hath not been so happy to retain.  
The time he lived in is ambiguons: Eusebius records it in the LXI Olympiad, Suidas in the LXII, and makes him Cotemporary with Polycrates a Tyrant at Samos; His Verse so mollified the harsh temper of that Prince, and as it were civilised his brutal Disposition, that he became no small favourite of his; But others are of Opinion, that he flourished under the Reign of Cyrus and Cambyses, and that not being able to suffer the Tyranny of the Persians, he betook himself to Abdera a City in Thrace whose sometime inhabiting there might atone for the Epidemical Disease of that people, Dullness: here he long time enjoyed the sweets of a quiet Life, attended with content and mirth the gay retinue of a Poet; and in the LXXXVth year of his Age died being choked with a Grapestone, upon whose death we have this Elegy out of Caelius.  

ATte Sancte Senex a●…us sub Tartara misit,  
Cygneae clausit qui tibi vocit iter:  
Vos Hederae tumulum, tumulum vos cingite Lauri  
Hoc Rosa perpetuo uernet odora lo●…o;  
At vitis procul hinc, procul hinc odiosa face ssat,  
Quae dirae causam protulit una necis;  
Creditur ipse minus vitem nunc Bacchus amare  
In vatem tantum quae fuit ausa nefas.   

Englished thus.  
HAil Bard triumphant, whose melodious breath  
A Grapestone stopped, the Thunderbolt of death.  
Let Ivy now thy envied Tomb surround,  
And let it be with thy own Laurels crowned;  
Let grateful Roses odorous offerings bring,  
And here enjoy an everlasting Spring;  
But hence, far hence be placed the treacherous Vine,  
That made immortal Thee to death re●…gn;  
Bacchus' self hates it now, 'tis thought, and grieves  
IT has killed a Poet in whose Verse it lives.    

ANACREON Translated out of the Original Greek.  

I. Love.  
I'll sing of Heroes, sing of Kings;  
In mighty Numbers, mighty things.  
Begin my Muse; but lo the strings  
To my great Song rebellious prove;  
The Strings will sound of nought but Love;  
I broke them all, and put on new;  
'Tis this or nothing sure will do.  
These sure (said I) will me obey;  
These sure Heroic Notes will play.  
Straight I began with with thundering Jove.  
And all the immortal Powers, but Love,  
Love smiled, and from my enfeebled Lyre  
Came gentle Airs, such as inspire  
Melting Love, soft de●…re.  
Farewell then Heroes, farewell Kings,  
And mighty Numbers, mighty Things;  
Love tunes my Heart just to my Strings.   

II. Beauty.  
LIberal Nature did dispense  
To all things Arms for their defence;  
And some she Arms with sinewy force,  
And some with swiftness in the course;  
Some with hard Hoofs, or forked Claws,  
And some with Horns, or tusked Jaws.  
And some with Scales, and some with Wings,  
And some with Teeth, and some with Stings.  
Wisdom to Man she did afford,  
Wisdom for Shield, and Wit for Sword.  
What to Beauteous Womankind,  
What Arms, what Armour has she assigned?  
Beauty is both; for with the Fair  
What Arms, what Armour can compare?  
What Steel, what Gold, or Diamond,  
More Impassable is found?  
And what Flame, what Lightning e'er  
So great and active force did bear?  
They are all Weapon, and they dar●…  
Like Porcupines from every part.  
Who can alas, their strength express,  
Armed when they themselves undress,  
Cap-a-pe with Nakedness?   

III. Cupid or the Cunning Beggar.  
o'er all when Night had silence spread,  
Chained down by sleep and all lay dead,  
When Moon and Stars below did rest,  
With former watchings much oppressed;  
When even Thought in peace was lain;  
And the Old Nothing seemed to reign;  
A pretty Boy at door did wait,  
And me for Lodging much entreat,  
Complaining long of cold and wet.  
I am says he a fatherless,  
And hungry Child in much distress:  
My Mother to some neighbouring Town  
To beg relief for us is gone,  
Left me and Innocence alone.  
Good Sir, if the kind Gods you love,  
Let me, poor me your pity move.  
'twas here he stopped; and down his Face  
Methought the Tears did flow apace,  
His formal Cant I soon believed,  
And thought that I his Tears perceived.  
Compassion came from every part,  
And pleaded strongly in my Heart;  
My Heart, which its own ills desired,  
And even I myself conspired.  
I rose and struck a Light, then straight  
With Pious hast unlocked the Gate;  
(So headlong to our Fate we fly,  
So fond are we of Misery.)  
I saw the Youth, 'twas wondrous fair,  
His Eyes did like two Stars appear,  
His Limbs upon each other shone,  
And made a Constellation;  
But heats as yet I must not feel,  
With Wings he did himself conceal,  
(For know with Pomp and Leisure he  
Prepared at length to Murder me.)  
His Darts and Bow did seem around  
To hang, as Play-things newly found;  
Destruction then with kind intent  
I modishly did Compliment,  
I warmed his hands with mine, but see  
Two fires did back upon me ●…lie;  
For though more cold than Flint he came,  
He had like that a secret flame.  
His Hair was wet, but even then  
Some glimmering beauties did remain;  
At length the Curls in order lay,  
O'er which (that led my Soul away)  
Millions of little Loves did play:  
I called him Ganymede, I'd swear  
That Cupid was not half so fair:  
Nay, that I might my kindness show,  
I think I hugged and kissed him too.  
Cheered thus, warm Life came up again,  
And all in every part did reign;  
All discontent and cares did cease,  
His Bowstrings th' only thing amiss;  
So prettily he straight forgot,  
Each grave and unbecoming thought.  
Le's try says (affecting straight  
A meekly look, the greatest cheat)  
Le's try; if'gainst my Bow th' unkind  
heavens, rage and malice have designed.  
●…re to the head the Dart was drawn,  
And here the mighty God was shown;  
For (Oh) in my unwary Breast  
Death and the Fatal Steel did rest!  
Impatient Sense and Nature dies,  
And Love alone a Life supplies.  
The grinning Boy augments my pain,  
With Drolls and Sc●…ffs he wounds again.  
Landlord, he cries, my Bow you see  
Is much above an Injury.  
All ills against your Heart were meant,  
Kind ills which Heavn and Cupid sent.  
And you to me that warmth did give,  
A double gift do back receive;  
I grant (my gratitude to prove)  
That thou shall scorch and burn with Love.   

IV. The Epicure.  
UNderneath this Myrtle shade,  
On Flowery beds supinely laid,  
With odorous oils my head overflowing,  
And around it Roses growing,  
What should I do but drink away  
The heat, and troubles of the Day?  
In this more than Kingly state,  
Love himself shall on me wait.  
Fill to me Love, nay fill it up;  
And mingled cast into the Cup  
Wit, and Mirth, and noble Fires,  
Vigorous Health, and gay Desires.  
The Wheel of Life no less will stay.  
In a smooth than rugged way.  
Since it equally doth flee,  
Let the Motion pleas●…nt be.  
Why do we precious Ointments shower,  
Nobler Wines why do we pour,  
Beauteous Flowers why do we spread,  
Upon the Monuments of the Dead?  
Nothing they but Dust can show,  
Or Bones that has●…en to be so.  
Crown me with Roses whilst I live,  
Now your Wines and Ointment give,  
After death I nothing crave,  
Let me Alive my pleasures have,  
All are Stoics in the Grave.   

V. The Rose  
PRetty Rose, Thou gaudy Flower,  
Sacred to Love's mighty power,  
Whence there's no Lover ever seeks,  
But finds Thee in his Mistress Cheeks,)  
Thee thy Red Jolly looks design  
The fit Companion of Wine;  
Crowned thus, we'll drink and merry be,  
Till we look gay and Red like Thee.  
Queen of all the Flowers that wear  
The Liv'rie of the painted year.  
Thou Lovely Darling of the Spring,  
How dost thou short-lived glories bring,  
How dost thou vex us, but in this,  
That thy Life no longer is.  
Thee the God's love, hence they design  
To draw thee fresh with Paint divine,  
And in thy Reds strive to display  
The blushing Infancy of Day.  
The God of Love more lovely now,  
Adorns with thee his comely brow,  
When with the Graces dancing, he  
Sees nothing there so fair as thee:  
Then prithee let me Roses have,  
A Rosy Chaplet's all I crave;  
For which, Thou God of Wine, each day  
I'll thee in Drunken Carols pay;  
And when the beauteous Roses spread  
Their Ruby lustre round my Head;  
How shall one Dear She, and I,  
In Mirth and Gallantry comply;  
Free from care, free from strife,  
We'll dance the pleasant Maze of Life.   

Another.  
WHilst Roses round our Temples twine,  
The envy of the Rosy Wine,  
In which we cares and business bury;  
Thus we live, thus live merry;  
The Beauteous Virgins dance a round  
At the Harps no less charming sound,  
Their wanton Ivy wands too they  
As Badges of their Mirth display:  
(That twining Plant seems to prove  
The fittest Emblem of their Love.)  
See how each Harmonious Boy  
Does sometimes Dance, and sometimes Play;  
They Sing and Dance away their prime,  
And by such Motions measure Time;  
Love himself makes up the Choir,  
Venus does with soft Airs inspire.  
That sprightly God, the God of Wine,  
Pours New life through every Vein.  
All's Mirth: even now the ●…rave, and Sage  
Curse the dull awkerdness of Age.  
This the true life, this sure must be,  
Since Life itself but Harmony.   

VI The Wound.  
WHen once I did rebellious prove,  
Nor owned the S●…reingty of Love.  
Love smiled, and straight he took in hand  
His all commanding Purple Wand,  
Which kindly forced me to obey,  
And through strange Paths with Love to stray.  
We passed o'er sweetest flowery Plains,  
And through swift Amorous curled Streams,  
Where even sensl●…s●… things I saw,  
Did pay obeisance to Love's Law.  
Kind Reeds did to each other move,  
The Water's self seemed warm with Love.  
Even Brambles our approach to greet,  
Did in kind rough embraces meet.  
Thus as I passed and well did spy  
How all Things, All Things Loved but I,  
A pretty spangled glittering Foe,  
Too gay I thought to wound me so,  
A Snake with's Sting did life betray,  
My Heart had almost fled away.  
But Cupid called it back, I see  
All Hearts at his disposal be.  
Who nodding checked my stubborn pride,  
And thus at length began to chide.  
No matter what those fools sustain  
Who account Love the greatest pain,  
Which but once tried, none e'er did wish  
That so much dreaded pain to miss.   

VII. The Dream.  
AS on a Purple Quilt I chofe  
By Night to take my sweet repose,  
Where dewy Sleep fell on my breast,  
And all my cares lay calmed in Rest,  
My wanton Fancy sporting lay,  
And called my roving Thoughts to play.  
Who in their sport and amorous flight  
Made up this Landscape of delight.  
Methoughts (but oh 'twas but a Dream)  
I wand'ring spied a spotless train  
Of beauteous Virgins, where each face  
Provoked enough to th' amorous chase.  
Straight the coy Phantoms fled away,  
Not would for my kind Courtship stay.  
I followed straight, but lo hard by  
A Troop of gallant Youths did lie.  
Who there would fain have rivalled me,  
And forced me back with raillery,  
Yet this alas but fanned the fire,  
And added Wings to my desire.  
Methoughts I made the greater haste,  
And seized the amorous Prey at last.  
And then I proffered at a Kiss,  
But waked in the Interim of bliss.  
Curse on my Eyes that opened day,  
And chased those pleasant Forms away.  
My Eyes, that now will useless be,  
If I such sights may sleeping see.  
Thus raving I lay down, and then  
I only wished to Dream again.   

VIII, The Dove.  
TEll me, love's Envoy, prithee do  
Whither dost this Journey go  
Or whence didst this sweet voyage take,  
Through perfumed Air which thy Wings make.  
Which with their wanton fanning spread,  
Such Odours, as embalm the Dead.  
Such Odours, as I'd almost Swear  
Zephyrus Gales not sweeter are,  
When with some Rose he has been at play,  
And kissed its fragrant Life away.  
The Dove replied, what's this to Thee?  
I carry Anacreon's Embassy;  
Which he with courteous kind intent  
Has to his Loved Bathyllus sent.  
Bathyllus whose fair face does prove  
The Potent Monarchy of Love.  
'tis true I once was Venus' slave,  
Nor carried aught but what She gave,  
Who for a Love-Toy, for a Song  
Sold me to her Anacreon.  
Whom now I serve you see, and bear  
These his Love Letters through the Air;  
Which soft as mine own Feathers are.  
For which good Office kindly he  
My hated freedom proffers me.  
But all the freedom which I crave  
Is that I still may be his Slave.  
For why should I, tell me why,  
Range through the Desert of the Sky?  
Or make some Mountain's top my Seat  
To fit and moan for want of meat;  
Or when the year does bounties yield,  
And Fruits every each Painted Field,  
Why should I coarse Berries eat,  
Rough as the Brambles where I sit?  
Where all my Victuals dressed must be  
By Nature's homely Cookery.  
When I can here as freely stand,  
And peck out of Anacreon's hand.  
Delicious Crumbs, such as be  
The sweet effects of Luxury.  
And gulp such Wine, as he himself  
Drinks when he names Bathyllus health:  
And when I'm drunk with this, I play  
And dance and revel all the day.  
But when all things do silence keep,  
And the still Night invites to ●…leep,  
I on his Harp reposingly,  
And dream of nought but Harmony.  
This Sir is all, this is the brief  
Account of my Voluptuous life.  
Go with this Narrative content,  
Youv'e made me already impertinent.  
That you yourself will say anon,  
●…'me Dove in all parts, but my Tongue.   

IX. Cupid in Wax.  
A Friend of mine exposed to sale  
A Waxen piece, wrought wondrous well.  
The God of Love was formed in this  
Soft as he by Nature is.  
Where Art so much of life did give,  
The smiling Image seemed alive.  
Pleased at the sight, I asked the price  
Of this well imitated piece.  
My Friend replied, Sir what you please,  
I'll thank you too for the release.  
For I'm no Artist truth to tell,  
But Love at any rate I'd sell,  
With painted Arrows, painted Bow,  
Which make a real dreadful show.  
I dare not longer Cupid trust,  
Brother to insatiable Lust.  
Nay then by your leave Sir, I cried,  
If you'd be of this torment rid,  
Think not to vend the ware, but know  
That you must buy your Chapman too.  
Come hang't give me a Groat, I'll take  
The Image home, but for heavens sake  
Prithee Love my breast inspire,  
And kindle vigorous desire.  
Or else in flames far above  
All the extremities of Love,  
Thy stubborn Form shall soon decay,  
The Waxen God shall melt away.  
And if thou this deniest to me,  
The fire shall thy Sole ●…uine be.   

X. Age.  
OFt am I by the Woman told  
Poor Ana●…reon thou growest old.  
Look how thy Hairs are falling all,  
Poor Anacreon how they fall.  
Whether I grow old or no  
By th' effects I do not know,  
This I can tell without being told,  
'tis time to live, if I grow old.  
'tis time short pleasures now to take  
Of little life the best to make,  
And manage wisely the last Stake   

XI. The Swallow:  
FOolish Prater what ●…'st thou  
So early at my Window do,  
with thy tuneless Serenade;  
Welled had been had Tereus made  
Thee, as Dumb as Philomela,  
There his Knife had done but well.  
In thy undiscovered Nest,  
Thou dost all the Winter rest,  
And dreamest o'er thy Summer joys,  
Free from the stormy seasons noise.  
Free from th●… thou'st done to me,  
Who disturbs or seeks out Thee?  
Hadst thou all the charming notes,  
Of the Woods Poetic Throats  
All thy Art could never pay  
What thou'st haste ta'en from me away,  
Cruel Bird thou'st ta'en away,  
A Dream out of my arms to day.  
A Dream, that ne'er must equalled be,  
●…y all that waking Eyes may see.  
Thou this damage to repair  
Nothing half so sweet or fair,  
Nothing half so good canst bring,  
Though men say, Thou bring'st the Spring.   

XII. A Rant.  
THat Noble Soul, the Phrygian Boy  
Damned all Sense, a useless Toy.  
When with the Goddess big he reeled,  
And bravely roared it in the Field.  
Where Mountains listened to his voice,  
And Echoed back the Drunken noise.  
Thus, Thus of old th' inspired Men,  
Drank Bumpers up of Hippocrene.  
Till Frensie-strook they did begin,  
To fancy some mad God within,  
They soared above all common Sense,  
Winged with a Drunken Excellence.  
And all their venturous rage let fly,  
In Dithyrambic Poetry.  
Whilst these, these my Examples be,  
I'll curse all dull Sobriety.  
Filled with Wine's delicious charms,  
Filled with a Mistress in my Arms,  
My Passion uncontrolled shall rove,  
Doubly debauched with Wine, and Love.   

XIII. The Duel.  
YEs I will Love then, I will Love,  
I will not now Loves Rebel prove.  
Though I was once his Enemy,  
Though ill-advised and stubborn I  
Did to the Combat him defy.  
An Helmet, Spear, and mighty Shield  
Like some New Ajax I did wield,  
Love in one hand his Bow did take,  
In th' other hand a Dart did shake,  
But yet in vain the Dart did throw,  
In vain he often drew the Bow,  
So well my Armour did refist,  
So oft by slight the Blow I mist.  
But when I thought all danger past,  
His Quiver emptied quite at las●….  
Instead of Arrow or of Dart  
He shot Himself into my heart.  
The living, and the kill Arrow  
Ran through the Skin, the Flesh, the Blood,  
And broke the Bones, and scorched the Marrow;  
No Trench, or Work of Life withstood:  
In vain I now the Walls maintain,  
I set out Guards and Scouts in vain  
Since th' Enemy does within remain.  
In vain a Breast plate now I wear,  
Since in my Breast the Foe I bear:  
In vain my Feet their swiftness try,  
For from the Body can they fly?   

XIV. The Drunkard:  
FIll the Bowl with rosy Wine,  
Around our Temples Roses twine,  
And let us cheerfully a while,  
Like the Wine and Ro●…es smile.  
Crowned with Roses we contemn  
Gyges' wealthy Diadem.  
To day is ours, what do we fear,  
To day is Ours, we have it here.  
Let's treat it kindly, that it may  
Wish at least with us to stay.  
Le's banish Business, banish Sorrow,  
To the Gods belongs To Morrow.   

XV. My Fate:  
LEt other Poets build their glory,  
On the ruin'd Trojans Story  
Ill neither Sing of this or that,  
Or the mighty Thebans fate,  
Though I was sure to Sing withal,  
In such sweet Numbers as might call  
The stones again into a Wall.  
Nobler Themes My Breast inspire,  
Nobler Songs provoke my Lyre:  
Nobler Wars, such as be  
Waged by a disdainful she.  
Though I should stand where Canons roar,  
'Tis She alone can wound me more  
I have tried by Land and Sea enough,  
I am all Weapons, but loves proof;  
Love, who in Ambuscado lies  
All armed in my Mistress eyes.  
Each glance of her shoots forth a Dart,  
And every look commands a heart.   

XVI. The Cup.  
MAke me a Bowl, a mighty Bowl  
Large as my capacious Soul.  
Vast as my thirst is, let it have  
Depth enough to be my Grave.  
I mean the Grave of all my care,  
For I intent to buried there.  
Let it of Silver sashioned be,  
Worthy of Wine, Worthy of me.  
Worthy to adorn the Spheres,  
As that bright Cup amongst the Stars.  
That Cup, which Heaven deigned a place  
Next the Sun, its greatest grace.  
Kind Cup, that to the Stars did go  
To light poor Drunkards here below,  
Let mine be so and give me light,  
That I may drink and revel by't.  
Yetdraw no shapes of Armour there,  
No Cask, nor Shield nor Sword, nor Spear.  
Nor Wars of Thebes▪ nor Wars of Troy,  
Nor any other Martial Toy,  
For what do I vain Armour prize,  
Who mind not such rough exercise,  
But gentler Sieges, softer Wars,  
Fights that cause no Wounds nor Scars.  
I'll have no Battles on my Plate,  
Lest sight of them should brawls create,  
Lest that provoke to Quarrels too,  
Which Wine itself enough can do  
Draw me no Constellation●… there,  
No Ram, nor Bull, nor Dog, nor Bear,  
Nor any of that monstrous Fry,  
Of Animals which stock the Sky.  
For what are Stars to my design,  
Stars, which I when Drunk out shine  
Outshone by every drop of Wine.  
I lack no Pole star on the Brink,  
To guide in the wide Sea of Drink.  
But would for ever there be tossed,  
Wish no Haven, seek no Coast.  
Yet gentle Artist, if thou'lt try  
Thy Skill, then draw me, (let me see)  
Draw me first a spreading Vine,  
Make its Arms the Bowl entwine.  
With kind Embraces such as I,  
Twist about my loving She.  
Let its Bows o'erspread above  
Scenes of Drinking, Scenes of Love.  
Draw next the Patron of the Tree,  
Draw Bacchus and soft Cupid by,  
Draw them both in Toping shapes,  
Their Temples crowned with clustered Grapes.  
Make them lean against the Cup,  
As 'twere to keep their Figures up.  
And when their reeling Forms I view,  
I'll think them Drunk, and be so too.  
The Gods shall my Examples be,  
The Gods thus Drunk in Effigy.   

Another.  
HEre Artist all thy Skill impart,  
With Richest Metal, Richer Art,  
Make me a Bowl brighter far,  
Than heavens Cup gilded with many a Star,  
That Cup to which we'll nothing owe,  
'tis This shall influence us below.  
In various Colours, various dress,  
Here thy rich Workmanship express.  
First let the flowery Spring appear,  
The Drinking Season of the year.  
When every verdant Rose Tree still  
Of dewie-Nectar drinks its fill.  
And when't has long carousing stood,  
Breaks out into many a Bud.  
Buds, which once opened, will blush to be  
The Effects of Insobriety.  
Then let these Infant Roses shine,  
As if they borrowed from the Wine  
A Drunken redness, thus to be  
The Emblems of good Company.  
And to make up the tempting show  
Let Wine in Streams seem to flow.  
And in feigned rivulets roll along,  
Enough to Fuddle Looker's on.  
But prithee Artist, above all  
Draw no Egyptian Festival.  
Make no Deaths-heads the Living fright,  
Or check their Mirth, kerb their delight,  
But rather let young Bacchus here  
In all his staggering shapes appear.  
Draw Venus with hands lifted up  
As 'twere to Minister the Cup.  
With all her She adorers too,  
Where each shall Hebe's office do.  
Then draw the lovely amorous Boy,  
But make him lay his Arrows by.  
He'll hear no Bow, no Arrows want  
Whilst Wine itself Predominant.  
Next spread around the Mantling Vine,  
And let it the rich Bowl entwine  
With clustered Grapes, such as may  
Call the Birds once more away,  
Flattering 'em with a painted Prey.  
And underneath the pleasant shade,  
(If any by this Tree is made)  
Make all the smiling Graces play,  
Melting their softer hours away.  
Let 'em inspired nimbly move,  
Some with Wine, some with Love.  
Draw last of all good Company,  
Such as may Phoebus' place supply.  
Phoebus who though he above shines bright,  
Seemingly drunk with reeling light,  
Should he but our Revels know,  
Would rather choose his Heaven below.  
Would rather choose to light us here  
And make the circling Bowl his Sphere.  
Would rather have, when day is done,  
Our Wine, his Western Ocean.   

XVII. Drinking.  
THe thirsty Earth soaks up the Rain,  
And drinks, and gapes for Drink again.  
The Plants suck in the Earth and are  
With constant drinking fresh and fair.  
The Sea itself, which one would think  
Should have but little need of Drink  
Drinks ten thousand Rivers up,  
So filled that they o'erflow the Cup.  
The busy Sun (and one should guests  
By's drunken fiery face no less)  
Drinks up the Sea, and when h'as done,  
The Moon and Stars drink up the Sun,  
They drink and dance by their own light.  
They drink and revel all the night,  
Nothing in Natures' sober found,  
But an Eternal Health goes round.  
Fill up the Bowl then, fill it high,  
Fill all the Glasses there, for why  
Should every Creature drink but I,  
Why, Men of Morals, tell me why?   

XVIII. The●…ish ●…ish to his Mistress.  
I'm told how Bodies change their State  
By the shuffling hand of Fate;  
Which when once disposed to play  
Does some strangely convey  
And steal 'em from Themselves away.  
Here it leaves one, when life is gone,  
In wondering postures made a Stone.  
Another there stands doubting yet  
Whether to trust her Wings or Feet,  
Amidst these Scenes of Changes now  
Should the Gods my wish allow,  
Thy happy Looking-glass I'd be,  
That thou mightst always gaze on me,  
Where thou mightst spy, (was my Breast clear)  
Thyself, thy very self is there.  
I'd wish my Thread of Life were spun  
Into t●…y rich and precious Gown.  
That I might to Embraces hast,  
And clasp my Love about the waist.  
Or let me in pure rivulets flow,  
Which when thou bath'st will brighter show.  
Or let me in sweet Essence die,  
And here exhale my O'drous breath  
Whilst I thy limbs perfuming lie,  
Who could wish a sweeter death?  
Or let the heavens to exceed my wish  
And urge it on to greater bliss,  
Make me your Necklacé, Shape, or Shoe,  
Nay any thing that belongs to you.   

XIX. Heat.  
FIll, kind Misses, fill the Bowl,  
And let the Wine refresh my Soul.  
For now the thirsty heat of day  
Has almost drunk my Life away;  
Whole floods of sweat will scarce fuffice,  
It drinks, and still new floods arise:  
It drinks, till I myself grow dry,  
And can no longer floods supp●…y.  
Now than my Heat, relieve,  
And now your Cooling Garlands wove,  
Cooling Garlands, such as may  
Invite refreshing Winds to play,  
And chase the Tyrant Heat away.  
But this I do perhaps you'll guests  
Because I mean to Love you less;  
Or do't because I'd hence remove  
All the flames and heat of Love.  
Foolish Girls, perhaps you know  
This to the Body good may do;  
But Love can no abatement find,  
Love's the High-Feaver of the Mind.   

XX. Solitude.  
GRant me ye Gods the Life I love,  
And lend to me a shady Grove:  
There let the Trees Verdant Hair  
Sport with each kind blast of air.  
Let Birds the Choristers of the wood  
Sing all that's pleasant, all that's good.  
Make some liquid silver stream  
In soft whisper court the Plain.  
And let me here Flowers behold  
Fringing its banks with native Gold.  
Then tell ye Gods, tell if ye can  
What Prince, what great unhappy man  
Would not thus a Cell prefer,  
And choose to live an Hermit here.   

XXI. Gold.  
IF all the sorcery of Gold,  
That which can all things els●… wi●…hold,  
Could but prorogue the fatal day,  
Or cou●…t one fleeting minutes stay▪  
No doubt I should a Miser be,  
And hug the Ore as much as he.  
Nor should I count it then amiss  
That this his Life, this his all is.  
But since there's nought, early or late  
Can brib●… inexorable Fate,  
Since all must go one common way,  
The ri●…hest and the poorest Clay.  
Why does the Mi●…d up store,  
Why does he drudge for useless Ore?  
'tis all at best a gilt deceit,  
All but a pleasant life's worst cheat.  
Then since 'tis so, I'll pleasures take,  
And of my time the best I'll make.  
Smiling Mirth, gay Jollitry  
Shall treat each hour that passes by:  
Nay I will Love, and then each day  
Even Time itself will wish to stay▪  
Thus my short life shall pleasant be,  
Thus I shall longer live than he.   

XXII. Life.  
NAture sent us all abroad,  
Directing us a narrow Road;  
The slippery Road of Life, which men  
Once pass, and ne'er begin again.  
O▪ re Hedge and Ditch Hope leads 'em on,  
And talks of pleasant Fields to come,  
But see th' enchanted grounds are gone.  
How many years I've passed o'er  
'tis known, but what remaineth more,  
Or when Death takes the travelers in,  
'tis hidden, sacred, and u●…een:  
Well then since all things doubtful are  
And there are Gods we know not where,  
Fill up the Bowl we'll dance and sing  
Till Nature does true knowledge bring.  
And thus, my Friends we'll joys receive,  
And thus we'll ●…nd the way to live.   

XXIII. The careless Companion.  
WHilst the Cup walks nimbly round,  
All my Cares in that lie drowned.  
I banish Business to the great,  
Business the great man's Favourite.  
Business shall now no more molest  
The even temper of my Breast:  
For since my Age does downwards bend,  
Why should I hasten to my end,  
Why should I thinking on my Fate,  
Thus my Sorrows Antedate?  
Fill then my Boy, come fill it up.  
I'll bury all cares in this Cup.  
For whilst the Cup walks nimbly round,  
All my Cares in that lie drowned.   

Another.  
WHilst I carouse, all my cares sink  
Into the vast Sea of Drink;  
Methinks I Croesus then despise,  
With all his useless Treasuries,  
Richer far in that bright Coin,  
That sparkles in each Glass of Wine;  
And what I like better still,  
All that Gold is potable.  
'tis that has raised a precious thought,  
And me to fancied Riches brought;  
To me thus rich, all things below  
Do but mere empty Trifles show.  
With Garlands decked I roar, and sing,  
Greater▪ than the greatest King.  
Methinks I laugh at Honour▪ s cheat  
That so imposes on the Great.  
I laugh at all the small renown,  
That dimly glimmers on a Crown.  
Let others now to Wars repair,  
And seek for fluttering Honour there.  
Charge me a Cup Boy, prime it well,  
'tis this shall all my Foes repel:  
Charge all the Goblets there, for wh●…  
Death stealing on methinks I spy;  
But I'll forestall his great design  
And be dead drunk before with Wine.   

XXIV. In the Praise of Bacchus.  
WHilst Bacchus' Temple in my Breast  
By the Mighty God's possessed,  
That God who first from Lightning came,  
Now brisk and active as the same,  
He does with Mirth my Mind inspire  
And tunes my Heart just to his Choir.  
My cheerful Pulse beat more strong,  
My Blood in Numbers skips along.  
Drunk thus methinks I'm in a Trance,  
And all my body's but one Dance.  
Methinks I hear Venus rehearse  
Some charming Song, some dancing Verse.  
That kindly moves (methinks I see)  
My trembling Nerv's by Sympathy.  
Which dance afresh, by Wine and Love,  
Thus I like a Machine move.  
Now let the Learned say what they can,  
Music is the Soul of Man.   

XXV. His Mistress' Picture.  
DRaw, some Apelles, Draw me here  
Her who is the only fair.  
She's fled; but in my breast I find  
She has left herself behind.  
Thy Colours then make ready all,  
And copy thus the Original.  
First draw her Hair black as the Night,  
In which all Lovers take delight.  
And if the Wax will Odours bear  
Perfumes, that owe more sweets to her,  
Draw her High Forehead (let me see)  
Whiter then whitest Ivory.  
Then paint each brown declining Brow,  
That serve so oft for Cupid's Bow:  
Who when with killing strives to please,  
Will only then make use of these.  
●…ut lest these comely loving pair  
Of Arches, meet into one Fair:  
At a small distance let 'em show,  
They would be one, and are scarce two:  
Below these if thou canst display,  
Of her two Eyes the double day,  
Where dazzling Lightning seems to play.  
Like Lightning they glide through the Skin,  
And wound the Heart that's lodged within.  
But to add all their Graces too,  
Let 'em like Pallas' be Blew,  
Which more than ere her Gorgon slew,  
Let 'em such charming glances dart,  
As Venus when she wounds a Heart.  
This being done: her Cheeks next view,  
Where (if you'd imitate the true)  
Steal Blushes from the Rosy Morn,  
(Such even such her Cheeks adorn)  
And mingle with the streaming light,  
That paints the Milky way so white.  
Mean while her cherry Lips don't miss,  
That tempt our tasting in a Kiss;  
Lips that like Suadas still dispense,  
The sweet Conserv's of Eloquence.  
Her Chin and Neck in white array,  
Where all the Grace's dance and play.  
And last of all let her be,  
Veiled in a Dress as gay as she;  
But let that Little part be bare,  
That where all Woman does appear:  
Now the Draught finished; now I find  
She's drawn so lively to my Mind▪  
That what she won't, (le●…t my heart break,)  
The Picture's self, I think, will speak.   

XXVI. Bathyllus.  
IF Painter thou true Life canst draw,  
Now, now, my fair Bathyllus show.  
On's Hair a charming blackness lies,  
And even thence a light does rise.  
Make wand'ring little Curls to dance  
In a well ordered Negligence.  
His High Forehead bright as the Morn  
Black, narrow, Eyebrows do adorn.  
Through which, as from a Bow that's bend▪  
Sha●…p Arrows from his Eyes are sent.  
To my Heart let them a passage bore,  
And make me love him more.  
Make fierce, black eyes, that Thousands slew,  
Yet make 'em kind and courteous too.  
This Angry part by Mars was sent,  
This Mildness here by Venus lent.  
That down th' Admirer drives,  
And this the Criminal forgives.  
His Cheeks with Youth and Blushes dressed,  
By fairest Apples are expressed.  
Let modesty o'er all command,  
Else the piece will blush to mend your hand.  
His Red, plump Lips and little Mouth  
Will puzzle and torment us both.  
Pretty, Delicious,— oh they've outgone  
All Art, and all Description  
But let sweet smiles around 'em play,  
And there becoming moistures lay,  
To them let Eloquence be join▪ d,  
As if for Rhetoric designed.  
They must at least a Motion make,  
And even Silence seem to speak.  
Like that of the Spheres let it be,  
A sweet but unheard Harmony.  
And in this charming Face, let all  
Be stately and Majestical.  
Ore's slender, Ivory Neck I'll pass,  
And with more joy do downwards hast.  
His Breast is full in every part,  
For it contains Anacreon's Heart.  
Smooth are his hands, both long and White,  
Which Kisses must from all invite.  
Here through blue veins pure blood does glide▪  
Here on it of't the Soul does ride.  
To this fair place o'erjoyed it runs,  
Long stays it makes, and quick returns.  
His large, big Belly all approve▪  
'tis in Drunk'ness graceful and in Love.  
His Thighs to Marble I'd compare,  
But that they soft and tender are  
Loose quivering flesh in Whiteness lies,  
And stiff cold Age with fire supplies.  
Let there be now a thin slight shade,  
Or Anything or Nothing made.  
An inward tickling only draw,  
And Love's fi●…st pleasant Itchings show,  
Even now let flowing Nature try  
To pass the bounds of Chastity.  
But see your Art is too unkind,  
It does not show the Charms behind  
Charms, that seem now lovelier far,  
●…cause they hidden are.  
On him I will not Feet bestow.  
For louèrs never look so low.  
I only this of you shall claim,  
That you'd the piece Apollo name.  
And if you e'er Apollo see,  
Call't Bathyllus in Effigy:  
For Both are Gods, both loved by me.   

XXVII. The Captive.  
IN Chains of Flowers made  
The Muse's Love did lead.  
Entreating Beauty that she'd take  
The Prisoner which she first did make.  
Though Venus sued for Liberty,  
And wished that he might all obey,  
Admire sometimes Deformity.  
For that of Pride had store,  
And Egypt Monsters did adore  
Fancy made wrinkled faces fair,  
And Hills and Dales fine Prospects are.  
But though to Love enlargment's brought,  
Dear Captivity he sought.  
All savage Wildness nobly scorned,  
And to Beauty, Beauty he returned.   

XXVIII. The Jolly Drunkard.  
STand of, my Thirst can never cease,  
I'll drink it all, though Bottomless.  
Heaven shan't show the Soul, nor Hell  
That me in Madness dares excel.  
Two Grecian Sparks 'tis true  
Their ill natured Mothers slew,  
Then stark and raving mad did run,  
Because the brave exploit was gone  
And never could again be done.  
But I that am contented well  
With harmless drink and Whoring still,  
That ne'er an angry Rival killed,  
Nor prying Cuckold's blood e'er spilled,  
I that in Claret do delight,  
And drink such blood with appetite,  
Beyond an Ecstasy can fly,  
And stare and rave more decently.  
Let Heaven then show the Soul, or Hell  
That me in Madness dares excel.  
A Lovely sight it was,  
When Ajax through the Troops did pass,  
Through Hills of Wool fierce Anger shot,  
And in the Sheep his Grecians sought.  
O'er Northern Alps he seemed to fly,  
And through the Snow to cut his way.  
Of, heavy senses he complains,  
And throws down th' useless weight of Brains.  
Stout Hercules did mount with pride,  
And in his Rage was Deified.  
He straight shook of the fleshly load,  
He first grew mad and then a God.  
See then after this draught of Wine,  
His Star I'll straight outshine;  
A Nature I will have like his,  
And thus an Apotheosis.  
Here, here Perfection is expressed,  
Madness with new madness is possessed.  
Let Heaven then show the Soul or Hell,  
That dares in Madness me excel.   

XXIX. The Account.  
WHen all the Stars are by thee told,  
(Those endless sums of heavenly Gold  
Or when the Hairs are reckon d all,  
From fickly Autums head that fall.  
Or when the drops that make the Sea,  
Whilst all her Sands thy Counters be,  
Thou then, and thou alone must prove  
Th' Arithmetician of my Love.  
An Hundred Loves at Athens score,  
At Corinth write an Hundred more.  
Fair Corinth does such Beauties bear,  
So few is an escaping there.  
Write then at Chios Seventy three,  
Write me at Lesbos (let me see)  
Write me at Lesbos Ninety down,  
Full Ninety Loves and half a one.  
And next to these let me present  
The fair Ionian Regiment,  
And next the Carian Company  
Five hundred both Effectively.  
Three Hundred more at Rhodes and Crete  
Three Hundred 'tis I'm sure complete.  
For Arms at Crete each Face does bear▪  
And every eye's an Archer there.  
Go on, this stop why dost thou make.  
Thou think'st perhaps that I mistake,  
Seems this to thee to great a Sum,  
Why many Thousands are to come.  
The mighty Xerxes could not boast  
Such different Nations in his Host.  
On, for my love (if thou beest weary)  
Must find some better Secretary.  
I have not yet my Persian told  
Nor yet my Syrian Loves enroled,  
Nor Indian nor Arabian  
Nor Cyprian Loves nor African,  
Nor Scythian nor Italian flames,  
There's a whole Map behind of Names.  
Of gentle Loves in the temperate Zone,  
And cold one's in the Frigid one.  
Cold frozen Loves, with which I pine  
And parched Loves beneath the Line.   

XXX. The Swallow.  
BEloved Bird, who as you fly  
Our Spring bring up, or lead away:  
Whom Swains that doubt if Winter's done  
Trust rather than the Sun;  
That in the Summer buildest thy Nest,  
And many Thou's are straight increased;  
That when ill— natured Colds appear,  
Dost from the stormy World retire,  
And then with pleasant Sleep oppressed,  
Iong with thy Sons and Daughter's rest:  
See, how unreasonable is Love,  
That from my Heart will never move,  
That every Minute builds,  
With Love and every corner fills.  
That Heats or Colds will ne'er refuse,  
Heats or Colds new Births produce.  
The young Ones here unfeathered lie,  
And wish for Cupid Wings to fly.  
Some in the Egg unformed lay,  
Their own warmth to Life works out away.  
Half hatched are some, and do receive  
But half a Soul, are half alive.  
All gape for Food, and All  
The Mother Love with chirpings call.  
His tuneless Notes each one does try,  
And All within is Harmony.  
Bred up, they straight together meet,  
And each Ten Thousand does beget.  
In short so many Loves do rest,  
Within my sad tormented Breast,  
By one Tongue they can't be all expressed.   

XXXI. To his Young Mistress.  
BEcause Forsooth you're young and ●…air,  
And fresher than the Rose appear,  
Grey Hairs you treat with scornful Eye,  
And leave me most unmannerly.  
Sweetheart, these Ashes do contain  
Embers, that strive to flame again.  
And Aetna that on's Top has Snow,  
Feels warmth and fire below.  
With Roses whitehaired Lilies shine,  
And in a Garland join,  
They locked in close embraces lie,  
And kiss and hug most decently.   

XXXII. Upon Europa.  
THis Bull, my Boy▪ sure is some ●…e,  
Who in disguise is making Love.  
Methinks through his guilt Horns I spy,  
The brightness of the Deity.  
His Front does no curl▪ d fierceness wear,  
All Heaven does in his Looks appear,  
His very Looks speak him a God,  
Who now has left the blessed abode.  
Nay whence I more of credit take,  
Europa's mounted on his back.  
Europa who outshines by far  
All his beauteous Harlot's there,  
Though each Harlot's made a Star.  
Methinks I see him now convey  
The Nymph, through the wondering Sea,  
Whose Chystal Waves swell here and there,  
Seemingly proud of what they bear.  
He now like Oars his feet does ply,  
And rows through the watery Sky,  
'tis Jov●… I mean, for sure no Beast  
Half so happy, half so blest,  
Wafted a Virgin o'er the Seas,  
And left his Lowing Mistresses.  
Nay none of all the Gods above▪  
But he, nor he were't not for Love.   

XXXIII. The Vain Advice.  
TAlk not to me of Schoolmens Rules,  
Those Antiquated, pious Fools,  
Who gravely preach of this or that,  
Of the Stoics Chain of Fate.  
I hate each sober, grovelling thought,  
That's from their musty Morals brought.  
To those whom vice and youthful rage,  
Has turned o'er to decrepit Age,  
Perhaps this Talk may Rhetoric be,  
But prithee Fool what is't to me!  
Drinking my sole Precept is,  
And my Life is linked to this.  
Then teach how I may Drunk commence,  
Above the low Intrigues of Sense.  
Or to raise the Frenzy high,  
Bless it with Love's Debauchery.  
For since my Head can nothing show,  
But aged Frosts or Winter Snow,  
Since Life mayn't till to Morrow stay,  
Give me the man that lives to day.  
Then fill the Glass Boy, fill the Cup  
I'll squeeze it to the last drop.  
Don't this attendance grudging give,  
To the small remainds I have to live.  
I now have but short time to crave;  
All lie silent in the Grave.   

XXXIV. The Spring.  
SEe how Nature's self a●…gay  
Ushers in the Springs new Day.  
At whose approach, the Graces wear  
Fresh honours on their flowing Hair,  
With Roses decked, whose Leaves enfold  
Smiling Crowns of studded Gold.  
Nothing now does Mirth annoy,  
Nothing stops the coming Joy;  
The busy Winds that used to stit  
The Waves, and raise a watery War;  
Unwillingly to Rocks repair,  
And waste themselves in murmurs there.  
The rugged'st Sea itself awhile  
Smooths its rough looks, and seems to smile:  
See how the Ducks with wanton play  
●…n their green Lakes sport all the day,  
The prudent Crane with full career  
Comes sailing through the floating Air.  
And with her wished return does bring  
Tidings of th' approaching Sp●…ing.  
The Sun now all o'er Eye delights  
Himself, in Nature's painted sights.  
His bounteous Rays lavishly gild  
The lowest Shrubs, the meanest Field:  
The sullen Clouds now post away,  
Nor interrupt the cheerful day:  
Or what remain dissolve in Showers,  
And bless their fall upon the Flowers.  
'tis now, the Country Farmers strive  
T' enjoy the Sunshine of a life.  
Here one endeavouring, we see,  
With curious Art to prune the Tree▪  
Another there checks in time  
The wanton growth of the spreading Vine.  
'tis now the Earth with Herbs is blessed,  
And in its rich green Mantles dressed.  
The Olive now luxuriant grows,  
And all its verdant Riches shows:  
Now full blown Roses in their prime  
Embrace the Bowl that foams with Wine.  
See now some loaded Trees expressing  
Th' extravagant Springs over blessi●…  
Each Field, each Garden seems to call  
Nature profuse and Prodigal.   

XXXV. The Old Man.  
OLd as I am I can contain  
More Wine than a younger brain.  
An Hogshead for a Wand I wave,  
And in a newer fashion rave.  
I reel into a Dance, while there  
My drunken Hickups' Music are.  
I fight, twelve in a Hand begins  
The Battle, and Anacreon wins:  
More honour, more I do desire,  
Present again, and still give fire.  
Thus Sack, my Boy, will on us wait,  
And thus its Soldiers animate.  
I'm Old 'tis true, but see  
How Active age can be,  
Silenus is a Drone to me.   

XXXVI. The Enjoyment:  
WHen the Vines pleasant Juice  
Into my Mind does Mirth infuse;  
With a rage, far beyond all  
That ere was termed Poetical;  
My new-raised Genius soars up high,  
And vents itself in Poetry.  
When the Vines pleasant Juice  
Into my Mind does Mirth Infuse:  
Wisdom that grave Impertinence,  
And all the busy thoughts of Sense,  
All the Distractions of Wit,  
I to the rough Winds commit.  
Winds that to Sea my troubles bear,  
And leave 'em to raise Tempests there.  
When the Vines pleasant Juice,  
Into my Mind does Mirth infuse;  
Rapt in a Drunken Ecstasy  
Through perfumed Air I seem to fly;  
And by the Journeying of Thought  
Am to a strange pleasant Somewhere brought,  
When the Vines pleasant Juice,  
Into my Mind does mirth infuse,  
And when rich Garlands Crown my Hair,  
Gemmed with Flowers here and there;  
I lavishly begin to praise  
A Quiet Life's Golden days.  
When the Vines pleasant Juice  
Into my Mind does mirth infuse,  
When Essence round my head does flow,  
And I hug a Mistress too;  
Venus alone my Lyre does move,  
My Song is all employed on Love.  
When the Vines pleasant Juice  
Into my mind does mirth infuse,  
And I drink a cheerful Cup,  
Which Summons all my Spirits up;  
How do the Jocund Girls enhance  
My joys, in a continued Dance.  
When the Vines pleasant Juice  
Into my mind does mirth infuse,  
To Day is mine, I'll live to day,  
'tis what the Gods can't take away.  
To Day shan't pass away by stealth,  
To Day is all my ready wealth:  
For the Remainds of Life's short date,  
Are all but in the gift of Fate.   

XXXVII. Cupid wounded.  
AS Cupid once with wanton play  
Amidst the Rosetrees sporting lay  
Nor did the Chemist Be behold  
Extracting there his liquid Gold.  
The busy Animal by chance  
Stung him with his little Lance.  
Wounded thus, th' impatient Child  
O'ercome by Passion straight grew wild;  
He sighing straight fled through the Air,  
And scattered some vain murmurs there.  
And when he came to the Paphian Court,  
Where's Mother Venus did resort;  
I'm killed, I'm killed faintly (he cried)  
(And straight his Tears flowed in a Tide)  
Mother (he cried) I'm now undone,  
See, see my life is almost gone.  
A small winged Serpent with his Dart  
Hath stung me to the very heart;  
I know not well its name (let's see)  
I think the Plowmen call't a Bee.  
The Queen of Love replied, my Boy  
If such a Sting can Life destroy;  
Think but what pain thy Arrows cause,  
And how thou doubly killest with those.   

XXXVIII. An Hymn to the God of Wine.  
LEt's drink, let's sing, but with design  
In Hymns to praise the God of Wine.  
The God, that seated in the head,  
First in Numbers taught us how to tread.  
That makes the unskilful sing, and be  
A Wit, and of't good Company.  
The God, that always was designed  
To be to Venus joined.  
That heats us in our amorous fights,  
And whets our whoring appetites.  
Who swearing first did institute,  
And Drunkenness as his Attribute.  
The God that friends creates,  
And drowns all strife, and fierce debates.  
Here Sorrow knows not how to weep,  
And watchful Grief is rocked asleep.  
Wine like a Sea within him spreads,  
And like an Island stands his heart,  
Care the depth and danger dreads,  
And wisely backward does depart.  
Purge Sorrows then away; you see,  
You see the sovereign remedy.  
Le's laugh to day, for Life is blind  
And to Morrow may not find,  
Time's more unconstant than the Wind.  
Led up a dance, and when you make  
A Step, than then a brimmer take:  
That pretty Toy a Girl seek out,  
With her frisk and sport about;  
Sigh, smile, kiss, hug, then show  
What well digested Wine can do.  
To those our cares we will dispense,  
Whom affliction teaches Sense.  
We more cheaply know,  
Drink, and sing, and reel abroad,  
For what else should we do,  
But praise the best the greatest God?   

XXXIX. Of Himself.  
O'ercharged with Wine a Dance I love,  
And that all things may move  
In different Figures, as of ●…ld,  
The first confused Atoms rolled.  
The Harp with Wine all over wet,  
Its Hearers must intoxicate;  
But still the Ladies I would please,  
With Riddles, and Cross purposes.  
My Heart fierce Anger never tore,  
Kind Love had seized it all before;  
Scolding and Noise I always fly,  
Chief Enemies to good company.  
I hate all intestine Jars,  
All fierce unnatural Wars.  
Which rudely Pots, and Flagons raise,  
And only in confusion cease.  
Of Heaven a Handsome Girl I crave,  
Good Wine, and Music; then  
(Life gone) into her Lap my Grave  
I'll fall the best of men.  
And there in peaceful softness lie,  
Melted with Love and Harmony.   

XL. The Grasshopper.  
HAppy Insect, what can be  
In happiness compared to Thee?  
Fed with nourishment divine,  
The dewy Morning's gentle Wine;  
Nature waits upon thee still,  
And thy verdant Cup does fill;  
'tis filled wherever thou dost tread,  
Nature self's thy ganymed.  
Thou dost drink, and dance, and sing;  
Happier than the happiest King!  
All the Fields which thou dost see,  
All the Plants belong to Thee,  
All that Summer Hours produce,  
Fertile made with early Juice.  
Man for Thee does Sow and Blow;  
Farmer He and Landlord Thou!  
Thou dost innocently joy,  
Nor does thy Luxury destroy.  
The Shepherd gladly heareth thee  
More Harmonious than Herald  
Thee Country Hinds with gladness hear,  
Prophet of the ripened year!  
Thee Phoebus loves and does inspire;  
Phoebus is himself thy Sire.  
To thee of all thing▪ upon Earth,  
Life is no longer than thy Mirth.  
Happy Insect, happy Thou,  
Dost nether Age nor Winter know.  
But when thou'st drunk, and danced, and sung▪  
Thy fill, the flowery Leaves among,  
(Voluptuous, and wise withal,  
Epicurean Animal)  
Satiated with thy Summer feast,  
Thou retir'est to endless Rest,   

XLI. The Dream expounded.  
ONce in my Dream I seemed to fly,  
From I know not what, I know not why;  
Nor did the Heaviness of Sleep  
Constrain my fleeting Thoughts, or keep  
My Fancy back, but through the Air  
I seemed to post with full career.  
The amorous Boy pursued me straight,  
Though hindered by unusual weight,  
He did his flight so contrive,  
He soon oretook the Fugitive.  
Now what I may deduce from hence,  
What Mystical, what hidden Sense  
Is couched in this, I know not well;  
Yet this my Fancy seems to tell:  
That I, who admired every Face,  
Was taken with each little Grace;  
With one, because Slender and Pretty,  
Another Fair, another Witty;  
From all these potent Tyrant's free,  
Must but by one now conquered be;  
Nor is it strange, She's All to me.   

XLII. Upon Cupid's Darts.  
AS Vulcan at his Anvil stood  
Forging Love's Darts, gentle and good,  
Of red-hot Steel; which did retain  
Some Sparks, that use to burn again;  
Venus in Hony dipped 'em all.  
And Love allayed the Sweets with Gall.  
When furious Mars returned from fight,  
Without the least glimmering of delight.  
No smiling Looks, no unusual Grace  
Disturbed the Majesty of his face.  
In's dreadful hand a Spear he bore  
The rougher Instrument of War.  
And laughing took up Love's light Dart▪  
(But little thought it caused such smart)  
This is, said h●…, a pret●…y Toy,  
A Play-thing fit for such a Boy;  
Cupid at length made this reply,  
Sir, if you please, the lightness try;  
With that he shot the new-made Arrow,  
Which pierced him to the Marrow,  
And wounded deep: Venus smiled  
To see the God of War beguiled.  
Who vainly pray d; hence, hence remove  
The Dart, I feel enough of Love.  
No, no, Love cried your pain enjoy,  
You know my Arrow's but a Toy.   

XLIII. Upon Gold.  
A mighty pain to Love it is,  
And 'tis a pain that pain to miss  
But of all pains the greatest pain  
It is to Love, but love in vain.  
Virtue now, no●… noble Blood,  
Nor Wit by Love is understood,  
Gold alone does Passion move,  
Gold monoplizes Love.  
A Curse on her, and on the man,  
Who this Traffic first began.  
A Curse on him who found the o'er  
A Curse on him who digged the store.  
A Curse on him who did resine it,  
A Curse on him who first did coin it.  
A Curse, all Curses else above,  
On him who used it first in Love.  
Gold begets in Brethren hate,  
Gold in Families debate:  
Gold does Friendship separate,  
Gold does Civil Wars create,  
These the smallest harms of it,  
Gold, alas does Love beget.   

XLIV. Pleasant Old Age.  
I Love the man, whom froward Age  
Can in its Quarrels ne'er engage.  
Who as merrily to his Evening's come,  
As if Life's short Day●…ere ●…ere but begun.  
I love the Young Gallant, who knows  
What to his early years he owes.  
Who frequents Balls, and strives t'outdo,  
What th' height of Na●…re prompts him to.  
'tis this, 'tis this pleases the man,  
Who has almost ou●…v'd his span.  
Who in a Dance is often old,  
And by's grey Hairs he now grows old.  
He now grows Old; but when all's done  
His Mind is ever, ever Young.  
And what his Body can't do then.  
His youthful thoughts act o'er again.   

XLV. The Drunkard's delight.  
GIve me Homer's tuneful Lyre,  
Let its sound my breast inspire  
With no troublesome delight,  
Of the Trojans well sung Fight.  
I et it play no Conquests here,  
But it's own Conquests o'er the Ear.  
This I'll strike, on this I'll play,  
And in soft Music spend the day.  
Bring the Cups, where we receive  
What Laws the awful mark does give.  
I'll fill 'em fair, I'll drink 'em all,  
Till I grow mad, and Whymsical;  
Till Nothing's sober in me found,  
But I staggering dance around.  
My Joyful Harp, in Complaisance,  
With trembling Strings shall sing and dance.  
Then some new Rant I'll sing; and cry  
Defiance to Sobriety.   

XLVI. The Effects of Wine.  
THe Youth who nobly stands his ground,  
Who never baulks A Brimmer round.  
Who in Dancing does delight,  
Is Bacchus only Favourite.  
Patron of each brave design,  
Who gives us Philtres in our Wine,  
Who makes us love in spite of Fate,  
And doubly burn with Wine and that;  
Wine that to the Grape Tree owes  
Its Purple Streams with which it flows;  
Wine that keeps its Patients free,  
From each daring Malady.  
Wine is our Doctor all the year,  
We no assaults of Sickness●…ear ●…ear;  
But wisely rave with decent rage,  
Free from the Disease of Age,  
Free from Diseases of the Mind,  
Till another year grows kind,  
And brings again our health, new Wine.   

XLVII. Advice to a Painter.  
PRi●…hee, Painter, do but hear,  
How my Lyre courts thine Ear;  
How it does all it Charms employ,  
And ravishes with speaking Joy!  
Let the Bacchaes their Pipes blow,  
Which to hoarse Air their Music owe.  
Sweeter Accents far rebound  
From the Harps smooth tongueed sound.  
Therefore add to my delight,  
And draw some pleasant curious sight;  
o'er some Country, o'er some Isle,  
I et simpering Colours cast a smile;  
Let thy Pencil now outdo  
What Peace in all its charms can show,  
(And if the Wax be'nt too unkind  
But proves prop●…ious to my mind)  
Let some Love-Intreagues appear  
And be the only Varnish here.   

XLVIII. Venus' Engraved on a Dish.  
SEe by some hand Industrious grown,  
By some venturous Art is shown,  
In a Dish the Ocean!  
Whose Margin counterfeits a Shore,  
The well-wrought Sea seems to roar;  
So much the Waters seem to flow,  
You'd think the Metal running too;  
Amidst these Waves I Venus' spy,  
Some Artist's Fancy mounted high,  
Stole the Idea from the Sky.  
From whence he drew her Limbs so bright,  
Clad but in thin wrought Rays of Light;  
She with unwieldy joy does pleas●…  
In her kill Nakedness.  
Nor do the happier Waves conceal  
But what 'twere impious to reveal;  
And but with prudent Secrecy  
Prevent th' Adul'try of the Eye.  
See how she treads the marbled way!  
And darts around a glorious day,  
Like Nymphs that o'er the Ocean play.  
And when she wantoness in the Seas,  
And rows o'er Crystal Palaces;  
The smitten Waves roll along.  
(Happy's the Foremost in the throng)  
With eager joy, meaning no harm  
They almost crowd into a Storm.  
And about her Rosy Waste  
Their curled embraces cast.  
Whilst she her various Colours strews,  
And Paints the Path where ere she rows;  
Such colonrs white-faced Lilies spread  
Mixed with the Carnation's red;  
Such Venus is all-ore. But see  
How the bended Dolphins play!  
How they dance along the Tide,  
On whom the little Cupid's ride;  
And in their dimpled looks express  
Their mutual Happiness:  
The little Fishes with quick glance  
Show their guilt Coats, they skip, and dance;  
Thus they speak joy for want of tongue,  
Nature in vain has made 'em dumb;  
Venus smiles too, and does appear  
So Natural, as if born even here.   

XLIX. The Grapes:  
TO us the Vine its store does give,  
And we with eagerness receive▪  
Young Men and Maids together come  
And bring the weighty Treasures home;  
Whole Vineyards in one Vessel lay,  
And true Wine from th' Trees is born away,  
But if we owe a Birth to Art,  
And Midwife force must Act a part,  
A Secrecy the deed requires,  
And every Virgin straight retires.  
For Men alone the Grapes do tread,  
And Wine's by skilful Drunkards made;  
To Song and Dance the God does yield,  
And all things are with Bacchus filled.  
With sparkling fires crowned he stands,  
And all our Eyes commands;  
On his Streams like a Sea-God lies,  
That from the Deep did lately rise.  
Old men, as they walk along  
Do taste, and see, and straight grow young.  
Their Crutches gone, they dance, and play;  
Whilst Age, and grey Hairs drop away.  
The Younger men look Red  
With thoughts of Wine, and Love; which feed  
Upon each other, and do thrive  
With long Enjoyments kept alive.  
Under a Myrtle shade  
Overcome by sleep a Nymph is laid;  
That ne'er a proffered bliss declined,  
In Dream, still thoughts to thoughts were kind.  
Thus all Women will, but few  
Dare act awake what then they'd do.  
For now of fierce disdain,  
The affronted Youth does long complain,  
Is every Minute killed.  
Sees more than all, because concealed,  
And strongest struggle seem to yield  
But since all Courtship was in vain,  
He strove by Storm the Fort to gain,  
He plundered, ravished, and lead on  
His force, and man'd the Garrison.  
He thanked the Grapes that courage sent,  
That made him bold and impudent.   

L. The Rose.  
NAked the Spring would seem, and bear,  
If Roses did not dress the year;  
The Rose that to the Gods presents  
Itself, sweeter than Frankincense.  
The Joy of man, who gently laid  
Upon a Rosy Bed;  
That and the Grace's round him move,  
And deck, and bless his hours of Love.  
The Rose, where none designs amiss,  
If he does that or Venus' kiss.  
This Plant the Poets strive to praise,  
And would for this exchange their Bays.  
Through Files of Pikes and Briars, we  
Push on our hands most willingly.  
But the Rose when gathered wounds does heal  
And we then only Roses feel.  
Insipid is our Mirth, and flat,  
If these our Wits don't animate;  
At Bacchus' feasts for dead though lain,  
With these refreshed we drink again,  
All things are in perfection great,  
If they the Rose but imitate.  
The winged Morning climbs the Sky,  
And her Rosie-Fingers does display,  
Bright only by a Simile.  
Each Nymph a strict Beholder seeks,  
Proud of this Colour in her Cheeks.  
Love's Rosie-Goddess he●…e does sit,  
More Lovely by that Epithet.  
In short a Medicine 'tis,  
For all I●…ls and Sicknesses.  
He that its virtues understands,  
will beggar all Physicians;  
Nay in the Grave 'twill lay,  
A●…d keep hungry Time away:  
Perfume the Carcase, and preserve;  
Whilst almost Death and Worms do starve.  
When Venus first from the Sea's Womb  
In Beauty clothed did come;  
And watery Mountains stopped to see  
The naked newborn Prodigy.  
When armed Pallas from the head  
Of teeming Jove was lead;  
Then sprang the Rose, 'twas then  
Our Goddess first did reign;  
Strange and wonderful her birth  
Amazed her Mother Earth.  
Of this the Gods did first deb●…te,  
And in Heaven a Council sat.  
All did Nectar on a Bramble drop,  
And soon the Rose leapt up.  
It first on Bacchus smiled, then straight  
Did itself to Bacchus dedicate.   

LI. Grown Young.  
WHen some brisk, and airy Scene,  
Does my Optics entertain  
With frisking Lads who their lives sooth,  
And nobly spend th' ●…state of Youth;  
The Wantoness, Pimps for fond delight,  
Provoke my feeble sight,  
My sight; which by some magic Art  
Scatters Youth through every part.  
My cripp●…'d feet in steps advance,  
And wonder why they dance.  
And whilst they in these sports engage,  
Forget the clumsiness of Age.  
Now th●…n, Cybelle, round my head  
Garlands of newblown Roses spread;  
In this Princely posture straight  
Let some Boy on me wait,  
Let him, to favour my design,  
Push it on with lively Wine;  
Then let him stand amazed, to see  
How I young and active be!  
How Jollily my Life does pass!  
How I'm disposed to take a Glass;  
Disposed to break a youthful Jest,  
Disposed to frolic with the best.   

LII. The Mark.  
NOthing undistinguished lies,  
Or cheats the sight in false disguise;  
A Mark is stamped on all, that we  
May in each a Dif●…rence see;  
Th●…wandring Horse does keep  
A Superscription on the Hip:  
The P●…thian by his Turbant's known,  
A Lover by his Heart is shown;  
Nor does the hidden Mark raise doubt,  
But oft in blushes Sallies out;  
And oft the Flame that brands his Breast,  
Is by his Tell-tale Looks expressed.   
FINIS.