Classic Poem

ODE XI

1

And now, tis Faire; how shall wee Spend the Day?
Manage the lustie Steed?
Or see the Eager Hounds, pursue the pray,
And laugh to see him bleed;
How shall wee run the lingring howers away?

2

Goe see the Gallant Falcon, from her wings,
The Quarrie Strike?
Or stay to heare Hermogenes who Sings
Soe Angel-like?
Or see the Fouler, lay his treacherous Strings;

3

Or with the baited Hooke, in Deviaes Streame,
Beguile the simple Trout?
Or rather take a Gun, and warre proclaime
To all the Birds about?
Or Sitt, and talke, and make the Times our Theame?

4

And where wee faile, the pleasures of the House
Shall our Discourse supplie.
Plumpe Bacchus makes the heart glad, when he flowes
In Cups not niggardlie.
Or shall wee wage, what wee fear not to loose?

5

Some toy at Dice? or Cards? or will you tosse
A Ball, att Tenis? or
Lets boule an hower or two, with the same losse:
Our Time, wee loose noe more;
Or Billiards, or what Else, you will propose.

6

Come, shall wee wanton with a Ladies Eye?
And Appetite provoke?
Or keep the Round of good Societie
In high-pris'd Indian Smoke?
And let the novice breake the Pipes, lye by?

7

Lets this, or any these, which you like best
Pursue; the Day growes old;
The Sun is halfe his Journey to the west;
But if to morrow hold,
With better pleasures wee will be refresht.

8

Were we but now made dull, with Stormie Ayre!
And shall we use it thus?
That Day, which (Doubtles) heaven did prepare,
To fitt us, in an use
More Noble; which wee loose, ere wee' are aware.

9

Come, take thy Quill along, my Sober Muse;
And wee will find a place,
Where wee may freelie Sing, and shade our Browes
Under some Mirtle base.
Such humble Shrubs, my Thoughts doe rather Chuse.

10

Or shall wee, under crooked Hawthrone Sitt,
And our Sad Fancies dresse?
Or rather chuse our loved Elme? and fitt
Notes, to our heavinesse?
Not Emulous of Fame, nor Glorious of witt?

11

However, where wee Sitt, or what wee Sing,
The Day shall be made short,
In sober recreations; when the wing
Of Fancie, flyes to sport,
Heaven, Ayre, Earth, Water, all their beauties bring:

12

And be the Day, or Clear, or cloudie Dull,
Our pleasure is the Same:
To morrowes Expectation cannot gull
Our Thoughts, in their true Ayme;
Nor take from what wee seeke, in objects full.

13

Thus then, he pleasure only doth enjoy,
Whose pleasure is not tyed,
In change of time, to quicken, or destroy,
But more securely ride
All winds and weathers, with a Constant Joye.

Him, nor the Angrie Heavens can Affright;
Nor Serene Skies please, with a better Light.