Robert Herrick - To Live Merrily, And To Trust To Good VersesRobert Herrick - To Live Merrily, And To Trust To Good Verses
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Now is the time for mirth,
Nor cheek or tongue be dumb;
For with the flow`ry earth
The golden pomp is come.
The golden pomp is come;
For now each tree does wear,
Made of her pap and gum,
Rich beads of amber here.
Now reigns the rose, and now
Th` Arabian dew besmears
My uncontrolled brow
And my retorted hairs.
Homer, this health to thee,
In sack of such a kind
That it would make thee see
Though thou wert ne`er so blind.
Next, Virgil I`ll call forth
To pledge this second health
In wine, whose each cup`s worth
An Indian commonwealth.
A goblet next I`ll drink
To Ovid, and suppose,
Made he the pledge, he`d think
The world had all one nose.
Then this immensive cup
Of aromatic wine,
Catullus, I quaff up
To that terse muse of thine.
Wild I am now with heat;
O Bacchus! cool thy rays!
Or frantic, I shall eat
Thy thyrse, and bite the bays.
Round, round the roof does run;
And being ravish`d thus,
Come, I will drink a tun
To my Propertius.
Now, to Tibullus, next,
This flood I drink to thee;
But stay, I see a text
That this presents to me.
Behold, Tibullus lies
Here burnt, whose small return
Of ashes scarce suffice
To fill a little urn.
Trust to good verses then;
They only will aspire,
When pyramids, as men,
Are lost i` th` funeral fire.
And when all bodies meet,
In Lethe to be drown`d,
Then only numbers sweet
With endless life are crown`d.
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