FILL the bowl with rosy wine! | |
| Around our temples roses twine! | |
| And let us cheerfully awhile, | |
| Like the wine and roses, smile. | |
| Crowned with roses, we contemn | 5 |
| Gyges’ wealthy diadem. | |
| To-day is ours, what do we fear? | |
| To-day is ours; we have it here: | |
| Let ’s treat it kindly, that it may | |
| Wish, at least, with us to stay. | 10 |
| Let ’s banish business, banish sorrow; | |
| To the gods belongs to-morrow. | |
| |
| UNDERNEATH this myrtle shade, | |
| On flowery beds supinely laid, | |
| With odorous oils my head o’erflowing, | 15 |
| 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 shall on me wait. | 20 |
| 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 | 25 |
| In a smooth than rugged way: | |
| Since it equally doth flee, | |
| Let the motion pleasant be. | |
| Why do we precious ointments show’r? | |
| Noble wines why do we pour? | 30 |
| 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, | 35 |
| 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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