Classic Poem

Epode

Now let us drink, and with our nimble Feet,
 The Floor in graceful measures beat;
Never so fit a time for harmless Mirth
 Upon this Sea-girt spot of Earth.
The King's returnd! Fill Nectar to the brim
 And let Lyœus proudly swim:
Our Joys are full, and uncontrouled flow,
 Then let our Cups (my Hearts) be so:
Begin the Frolick, send the Liquor round,
 And as our King , our Cups be crown'd.
Go, Boy, and peirce the old Falernian wine,
 And make us Chaplets from the Vine.
Range through the drowsy Vessels of the Cave,
 'Till we an Inundation have,
Spare none of all the Store, but ply thy Task,
 Till Bacchus Throne be empty Cask;
But let the Must alone, for that we find
 Will leave a Crapula behind.
Our Griefs once made us thirsty, and our Joy,
 If not allay'd, may now destroy.
Light up the silent Tapers, let them shine,
 To give Complexion to our Wine;
Fill each a Pipe of the rich Indian Fume,
 To vapour Incense in the Room,
Till we may in that artificial Shade
 Drink all a Night our selves have made.
No Cup shall be discharg'd, whilst round we sit,
 Without a smart report of Wit,
Let our Inventions quickned thus, and warm,
 Hit all they fly at, but not harm;
For it Wit's mastry is, and chiefest Art
 To tickle all; but make none smart.
Thus shall our Draughts, and Conversation be,
 Equally innocent, and free,
Our Loyalty the Center, we the Ring ,
 Drink round, and Changes to the King ;
Let none avoid, dispute, or dread his Cups,
 The strength, or quality he sups:
Our Brains of Raptures full, and so divine,
 Have left no room for fumes of Wine;
And though we drink like Free-men of the Deep ,
 We'll scorn the frail support of Sleep;
For whilst with Charles his presence we are blest,
 Security shall be our rest.
Anacreon come, and touch the jolly Lyre,
 And bring our Horace to our Quire :
Mould all our Healths in your immortal Rythme ,
 Who cannot sing, shall drink in time.
We'll be one Harmony, one Mirth, one Voice,
 One Love, one Loyalty, one Noise,
Of Wit, and Joy, one Mind, and that as free
 As if we all one Man could be.
Drown'd be past Sorrows, with our future Care,
 For (if we know how blest we are)
A knowing Prince at last is wafted home,
 That can prevent, as overcome.
Make then our Injuries, and Harms to be
 The Chorus to our Jollity,
And from those Iron times, past Woes recall,
 Extract one Mirth to balance all.