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(Anacreontiques)
UNDERNEATH this myrtle shade, | |
| On flowery beds supinely laid, | |
| With odorous oils my head o’erflowing, | |
| And around it roses growing, | |
| What should I do but drink away | 5 |
| 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, | 10 |
| Wit, and mirth, and noble fires, | |
| Vigorous health, and gay desires. | |
| The wheel of life no less will stay | |
| In a smooth then rugged way. | |
| Since it equally does flee, | 15 |
| Let the motion pleasant be. | |
| Why do precious ointments shower, | |
| Nobler wines why do we pour, | |
| Beauteous flowers why do we spread, | |
| Upon the monuments of the dead? | 20 |
| Nothing they but dust can show, | |
| Or bones that hasten to be so. | |
| Crown me with roses whilst I live, | |
| Now your wines and ointments give. | |
| After death I nothing crave, | 25 |
| Let me alive my pleasures have, | |
| All are Stoics in the grave. | |
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