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Robert Herrick - To Live Merrily, And To Trust To Good Verses
Work rating: Medium

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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