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Thus they drink, and thus they play
The sun, and all their wits away.
But, as an ancient author sung,
The vine, manured with every dung,
From every creature strangely drew
A twang of brutal nature too;
"Twas hence, in drinking on the lawns,
New turns of humour seized the Fauns.
Here one was crying out, By Jove!'
Another, Fight me in the grove.'

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This wounds a friend, and that the trees;
The lion's temper reign'd in these.
Another grins, and leaps about,
And keeps a merry world of rout,
And talks impertinently free,
And twenty talk the same as he :
Chattering, idle, airy, kind:

These take the monkey's turn of mind.

Here one, that saw the nymphs which stood

To peep upon them from the wood,
Steals off to try if any maid

Be lagging late beneath the shade:
While loose discourse another raises
In naked Nature's plainest phrases,
And every glass he drinks enjoys,
With change of nonsense, lust, and noise;
Mad and careless, hot and vain :
Such as these the goat retain.

Another drinks and casts it up,
And drinks, and wants another cup;
Solemn, silent, and sedate,

Ever long, and ever late,

Full of meats, and full of wine:

This takes his temper from the swine.

Here some who hardly seem to breathe, Drink, and hang the jaw beneath.

Gaping, tender, apt to weep:

Their nature's alter'd by the sheep.
'Twas thus one autumn all the crew
(If what the poets say be true)

While Bacchus made the

merry feast,

Inclined to one, or other beast:

And since, 'tis said, for many a mile
He spread the vines of Lesbos' isle.

ANACREONTIC.

WHEN spring came on with fresh delight,
To cheer the soul, and charm the sight,
While easy breezes, softer rain,

And warmer suns salute the plain;
"Twas then, in yonder piny grove,

That Nature went to meet with Love.

Green was her robe, and green her wreath, Where'er she trod, 'twas green beneath; Where'er she turn'd, the pulses beat With new recruits of genial heat; And in her train the birds appear, To match for all the coming year.

Raised on a bank where daisies grew,

And violets intermix'd a blue,

She finds the boy she went to find;
A thousand pleasures wait behind,
Aside, a thousand arrows lie,
But all unfeather'd wait to fly.

When they met, the Dame and Boy,

Dancing Graces, idle Joy,

Wanton Smiles, and airy Play,
Conspired to make the scene be gay;
Love pair'd the birds through all the grove,
And Nature bid them sing to Love,
Sitting, hoping, fluttering, sing,
And pay their tribute from the wing,
To fledge the shafts that idly lie,
And yet unfeather'd wait to fly.
'Tis thus, when Spring renews the blood,
They meet in every trembling wood,
And thrice they make the plumes agree,
And every dart they mount with three,
And every dart can boast a kind,
Which suits each proper turn of mind.
From the towering eagle's plume
The generous hearts accept their doom:
Shot by the peacock's painted eye
The vain and airy lovers die:
For careful dames and frugal men,
The shafts are speckled by the hen:
The pyes and parrots deck the darts,
When prattling wins the panting hearts:
When from the voice the passions spring,
The warbling finch affords a wing:
Together, by the sparrow stung,
Down fall the wanton and the young:
And fledged by geese the weapons fly,
When others love they know not why.
All this (as late I chanced to rove)
I learn'd in yonder waving grove,

And see, (says Love, who call'd me near,)
How much I deal with Nature here,
How both support a proper part,

She gives the feather, I the dart:

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