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Samuel Johnson - Anacreon: Ode 9
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Lovely courier of the sky,
Whence and whither dost thou fly?
Scattering, as thy pinions play,
Liquid fragrance all the way:
Is it business? is it love? 
Tell me, tell me, gentle dove.
"Soft Anacreon`s vows I bear,
Vows to Myrtale the fair; 
Graced with all that charms the heart,
Blushing nature, smiling art.
Venus, courted by an ode,
On the bard her dove bestow`d:
Vested with a master`s right,
Now Anacreon rules my flight;
His the letters that you see,
Weighty charge, consign`d to me:
Think not yet my service hard,
Joyless task without reward;
Smiling at my master`s gates,
Freedom my return awaits;
But the liberal grant in vain
Tempts me to be wild again.
Can a prudent dove decline
Blissful bondage such as mine? 
Over hills and fields to roam,
Fortune`s guest without a home;
Under leaves to hide one`s head,
Slightly shelter`d, coarsely fed:
Now my better lot bestows
Sweet repast and soft repose;
Now the generous bowl I sip,
As it leaves Anacreon`s lip:
Void of care, and free from dread,
From his fingers snatch his bread,
Then with luscious plenty gay,
Round his chamber dance and play;
OR from wine as courage springs,
O`er his face extend my wings;
And when feast and frolic tire
Drop asleep upon his lyre.
This is all, be quick and go, 
More than all thou canst not know;
Let me now my pinions ply,
I have chatter`d like a pye."
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