ANACREONTICS: THE EPICURE
by: Abraham Cowley (1618-1667)
- NDERNEATH
this myrtle shade,
- On flowery beds supinely laid,
- With odorous oils my head o'erflowing,
- And around it roses growing,
- What should I do but drink away
- The heat and troubles of the day?
- In this more than kingly state
- Love himself on me shall wait.
- Fill to me, Love! nay, fill it up!
- And mingled cast into the cup
- Wit and mirth and noble fires,
- Vigorous health and gay desires.
- The wheel of life no less will stay
- In a smooth than rugged way:
- Since it equally doth flee,
- Let the motion pleasant be.
- Why do we precious ointments shower?--
- Nobler wines why do we pour?--
- Beauteous flowers why do we spread
- Upon the monuments of the dead?
- Nothing they but dust can show,
- Or bones that hasten to be so.
- Crown me with roses while I live,
- Now your wines and ointments give:
- After death I nothing crave,
- Let me alive my pleasures have:
- All are Stoics in the grave.
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