Anacreontics

The Lute I

OF th' Atrides I would sing,

Or the wand'ring Theban King;

But when I my Lute did prove,

Nothing it would sound but Love;

I new strung it, and to play

Herc'les labours did essay;

But my pains I fruitless found,

Nothing it but Love would sound;

Heroes then farewell, my Lute

To all strains, but Love, is mute.

Beauty II

HORNS to Bulls wise Nature lends:

Horses she with hoofs defends:

Hares with nimble feet relieves:

Dreadful teeth to Lions gives:

Fishes learn through streams to slide:

Birds through yielding air to glide:

Men with courage she supplies:

But to Women these denies.

What then gives she? Beauty, this

Both their arms and armour is:

She, that can this weapon use,

Fire and sword with ease subdues.

Love's Night-walk III

DOWNWARD was the wheeling Bear

Driven by the Waggoner:

Men by powerful sleep opprest,

Gave their busy troubles rest:

Love, in this still depth of night,

Lately at my house did light:

Where perceiving all fast locked,

At the door he boldly knocked:

Who's that (said I) that does keep

Such a noise, and breaks my sleep?

Ope saith Love, for pity hear;

Tis a Child, thou need'st not fear,

Wet and weary, from his way

Led by this dark night astray;

With compassion this I heard;

Light I struck; the door unbarr'd:

Where a little Boy appears

Who wings, bow, and quiver bears;

Near the fire I made him stand;

With my own I chaf't his hand;

And with kindly busy care

Wrung the chill drops from his hair:

When well warm'd he was, and dry,

Now saith he tis time to try

If my bow no hurt did get,

For me thinks the string is wet:

With that, drawing it, a dart

He let fly that pierc'd my heart:

Leaping then, and laughing said,

Come my friend with me be glad;

For my Bow thou seest is sound,

Since thy heart hath got a wound.

IV

ON this verdant Lotus laid,

Underneath the Myrtles shade,

Let us drink our sorrows dead,

Whilst Love plays the Ganimed.

Life like to a wheel runs round;

And ere long, we underground

(Tane by Death asunder) must

Moulder in forgotten dust.

Why then graves should be bedew?

Why the ground with odours strew?

Better whil'st alive, prepare

Flowers and unguents for our hair:

Come my fair One, come away;

All our cares behind us lay;

That these pleasures we may know,

Ere we come to those below.

Roses V

ROSES (Love's delight) let's join

To the red-cheek'd God of wine:

Roses crown us, while we laugh,

And the juice of Autumn quaff:

Roses of all flowers the King:

Roses the fresh pride o' th' Spring:

Joy of every Deity;

Love, when with the Graces he

For the Ball himself disposes,

Crowns his golden hair with Roses.

Circling then with these our brow

We'll to Bacchus' Temple go:

There some willing Beauty lead,

And a youthful measure tread.

Another VI

NOW with Roses we are crown'd

Let our mirth and cups go round:

Whilst a Lass, whose hand a spear

Branch'd with Ivy twines doth bear,

With her white feet beats the ground,

To the Lute's harmonious sound,

Play'd on by some Boy whose choice

Skill is heightened by his voice:

Bright-haired Love, with his divine

Mother, and the God of wine,

Will flock hither, glad to see

Old men in their company.

The Chase VII

WITH a whip of Lillies, Love

Swiftly me before him drove:

On we coursed it, through deep floods,

Hollow valleys, and rough woods,

Till a Snake that lurking lay

Chanc'd to sting me by the way:

Now my soul was nigh to death,

Ebbing, flowing with my breath;

When Love, fanning with his wings,

Back my fleeting spirit brings;

Learn (saith he) another day

Love without constraint t'obey.

The Dream VIII

AS on Purple Carpets I

Charm'd by wine in slumber lie,

With a troop of Maids (resorted

There to play) me thought I sported:

Whose companions, lovely Boys,

Interrupt me with rude noise:

Yet I offer made to kiss them,

But o' th' sudden wake and miss them:

Vexed to see them thus forsake me,

I to sleep again betake me.

The Dove IX

WHITHER flies my pretty Dove?

Whither humble Scout of Love?

From whose wings perfumes distill,

And the air with sweetness fill.

Is't to thee which way I'm bent?

By Anacreon I am sent

To Rodantha, she who all

Hearts commands; love's General.

I to Venus did belong,

But she sold me for a song

To her Poet, his I am,

And from him this Letter came,

For which he hath promised me

That ere long he'll set me free:

But though freedom I should gain,

I with him would still remain;

For what profit were the change,

Fields from tree to tree to range,

And on Hips and Haws to feed,

When I may at home pick bread

From his hand, and freely sup

Purest wine from his own cup?

Hovering then with wings displayed

I my Master overshade:

And if night invite to rest,

In his Harp I make my Nest.

Now thou doest my errand know,

Friend, without more questions go:

For thy curiosity

Makes me to outchat the Py.

Love in Wax X

AS Love's image, to be sold,

Wrought in wax I did behold,

To the man I went; what is

Friend said I the price for this?

Give me what you please (he said)

This belongs not to my trade,

And so dangerous a guest

In my house I'm loath should rest.

Give m' him for this piece, said I,

And the Boy with me shall lie:

But Love see thou now melt me,

Or I'll do as much for thee.

The Old Lover XI

BY the women I am told

'Las Anacreon thou grow'st old,

Take thy glass and look else, there

Thou wilt see thy temples bare;

Whether I be bald or no

That I know not, this I know,

Pleasures, as less time to try

Old men have, they more should ply.

The Swallow XII

CHATTERING Swallow, what shall we,

Shall we do to punish thee?

Shall we clip thy wings, or cut

Tereus like thy shrill tongue out?

Who Rodantha driv'st away

From my dreams, by break of day.

XIII

ATIS through deserted groves

Cybele invoking roves:

And like madness them befell

Who were drunk at Phoebus' Well:

But I willingly will prove

Both these Furies, Wine, and Love.

The Combat XIV

NOW will I a lover be,

Love himself commanded me.

Full at first of stubborn pride,

To submit, my soul denied:

He his Quiver takes and Bow,

Bids defiance, forth I go,

Arm'd with spear and shield; we meet:

On he charges, I retreat:

Till perceiving in the fight

He had wasted every flight,

Like a dart himself he shot,

And my cold heart melts; my shield

Useless, no defense could yield;

For what boots an outward screen

When (alas) the fight's within?

XV

I NOT care for Gyges' sway,

Or the Lydian scepter weigh;

Nor am covetous of gold,

Nor with envy Kings behold:

All my care is to prepare

Fragrant unguents for my hair:

All my care is where to get

Roses for a Coronet;

All my care is for today;

What's tomorrow who can say?

Come then, let us drink and dice

And to Bacchus sacrifice,

Ere death come and take us off,

Cry, hold! th' hast drunk enough.

The Captive XVI

THOU of Thebes, of Troy sings He,

I my own captivity;

'Twas no Army, horse or foot,

Nor a Navy brought me too't,

But a stranger Enemy

Shot me from my Mistress' eye.

The Cup XVII

VULCAN come, thy hammer take,

And of burnished silver make

(Not a glittering armour, for

What have we to do with war?

But) a large deep Bowl, and on it

I would have thee carve (no Planet,

Pleiads, Waines nor Waggoners,

What have we to do with stars?

But to life exactly shape)

Clusters of the juicy grape

Whilst brisk Love their bleeding heads

Hand in hand with Bacchus treads.

Another XVIII

ALL thy skill if thou collect,

Make a Cup as I direct:

Roses climbing o'er the brim,

Yet must seem in Wine to swim;

Faces too there should be there,

None that frowns or wrinkles wear,

But the sprightly of Son of Jove,

With the beauteous Queen of Love;

There, beneath a pleasant shade

By a Vine's wide branches made,

Must the Loves, their arms laid by,

Keep the Graces company:

And the bright-haired God of day

With a youthful Bevy play.

XIX

FRUITFUL Earth drinks up the rain,

Trees from Earth drink that again,

The Sea drinks the Air, the Sun

Drinks the Sea, and him the Moon:

Is it reason then, d'ye think

I should thirst when all else drink?

The Wish XX

NIOBE on Phyrigian sands

Turn'd a weeping Statue stands:

And the Pandionian Maid

In a Swallow's wings arrayed;

But a Mirror I would be,

To be looked on still by Thee;

Or the Gown wherein thou'rt dressed,

That I might thy Limbs invest;

Or a Crystal Spring, wherein

Thou might'st bathe thy purer skin;

Or sweet Unguents, to anoint

And make supple every Joint;

Or a Knot, thy Breast to deck;

Or a Chain, to clasp thy Neck;

Or thy Shoe I wish to be,

That thou might'st but tread on me.

XXI

REACH me here that full crown'd Cup,

At once I'll drink it up;

For my overcharged Breast

Pants for drowth, with care oppressed;

Whilst a Chaplet of cool Roses

My distemper'd Brow incloses;

Love I'll drench in Wine; for these

Flames alone can his appease.

The Invitation XXII

COME my Fair, the heat t'evade,

Let us sit beneath this shade;

See, the Tree doth bow his head,

And his arms t'invite thee spread;

Hark, the kind persuasive Spring

Murmurs at thy tarrying;

Who molested by the Sun

Would so sweet a refuge shun?

XXIII

IF I thought that Gold had power

To prolong my Life one hour,

I should lay it up, to see

Death, when come to summon me;

But if Life cannot be bought,

Why complain I then for nought?

Death not brib'd at any price,

To what end is Avarice?

Fill me then some Wine; but see

That it brisk and racy be,

Such as may cold bloods inflame,

For by Bacchus arm'd, we'll aim

At Cythera's highest pleasure;

Wine and Love's the only treasure.

XXIV

I AM sprung of human seed,

For a life's short race decreed;

Though I know the way I've gone,

That which is to come's unknown;

Busy thoughts do not disturb me;

What have you to do to curb me?

Come, some Wine and Music give;

Ere we die, 'tis fit we live.

XXV

WHEN with Wine my soul is arm'd,

All my grief and tears are charm'd;

Life in toils why should we waste,

When we're sure to die at last?

Drink we then, nor Bacchus spare;

Wine's the Antidote of Care.

XXVI

WHEN my sense in Wine I steep,

All my cares are lull'd asleep:

Rich in thought, I then despise

Cræsus, and his royalties:

Whilst with Ivy twines I wreath me,

And sing all the World beneath me;

Others run to martial fights,

I to Bacchus's delights;

Fill the cup then Boy, for I

Drunk than dead had rather lie.

XXVII

JOVE-born Bacchus when possessed

(Care exiling) of my breast,

In a sprightly Saraband

Guides my foot and ready hand,

Which an even measure sets

'Twixt my voice and Castanets;

Tir'd we sit and kiss; and then

To our dancing fall again.

The Picture XXVIII

PAINTER, by unmatch'd desert

Master of the Rhodian art,

Come, my absent Mistress take

As I shall describe her; make

First her hair, as black as bright,

And if colours so much right

Can but do her, let it too

Smell of Aromatic dew;

Underneath this Shade, must thou

Draw her Alabaster Brow;

Her dark eye-brows so dispose

That they neither part nor close,

But by a divorce so slight

Be disjoin'd, may cheat the sight:

From her kindly killing eye

Make a flash of lightning fly,

Sparkling like Minerva's, yet

Like Cythera's mildly sweet;

Roses in milk swimming, seek

For the pattern of her Cheek:

In her lip such moving blisses

As from all may challenge kisses;

Round her neck (outvying

Parian stone) the Graces flying;

And o'er all her limbs at last

A loose purple mantle cast,

But so ordered, that the eye

Some part naked may descry,

An essay by which the rest

That lies hidden may be guessed.

So; to life th' hast come so near,

All of her, but voice, is here.

Another XXIX

DRAW my Fair as I command,

Whilst my fancy guides thy hand.

Black her hair must be, yet bright,

Tipp'd, as with a golden light,

In loose curls thrown o'er her dress

With a graceful carelessness;

On each side her forehead crown

With an Arch of Sable down;

In her black and sprightly eye

Sweetness mix with majesty,

That the soul of every lover

There 'twixt hope and fear may hover:

In her cheek a blushing red

Must by bashfulness be spread;

Such her lips, as if from thence

Stole a silent Eloquence:

Round her Face, her Forehead high,

Neck surpassing Ivory;

But why all this care we make

Her description need we take?

Draw her with exactest Art

After Venus in each part;

Or to Samos go, and there

Venus thou may'st draw by her.

Love imprison'd XXX

LOVE, in Rosy Fetters caught,

To my Fair the Muses brought;

Gifts his Mother did prefer

To release the Prisoner;

But he'd not be gone though free,

Pleas'd with his captivity.

XXXI

PRITHEE trouble me no more;

I will drink, be mad, and roar:

Alcmæ'on and Orestes grew

Mad, when they their Mothers slew:

But I no man having kill'd

Am with hurtless fury fill'd;

Hercules with madness strook,

Bent his Bow, his Quiver shook;

Ajax mad, did fiercely wield

Hector's Sword, and grasped his Shield:

I nor Spear nor Target have,

But this Cup (my weapon) wave:

Crown'd with roses, thus for more

Wine I call, drink, dance, and roar.

The Accompt XXXII

IF thou dost the number know

Of the Leaves on every Bough,

If thou canst the reck'ning keep

Of the Sands within the Deep;

Thee of all men will I take,

And my Love's Accomptant make.

Of Athenians first a score

Set me down; then fifteen more:

Add a Regiment to these

Of Corinthian Mistresses;

For the most renown'd for fair

In Achæa, sojourn there;

Next our Lesbian beauties tell;

Those that in Ionia dwell;

Those of Rhodes and Caria count;

To two thousand they amount.

Wonder'st thou I love so many?

'Las of Syria we have not any,

Ægypt yet, nor Crete have told,

Where his Orgies Love doth hold.

What to those then wilt thou say

Which in Eastern Bactria,

Or the Western Gades remain?

But give o'er, thou toilst in vain;

For the Sum which thou dost seek

Puzzles all Arithmetic.

The Swallow XXXIII

GENTLE Swallow, thou we know

Every year dost come and go,

In the Spring thy nest thou mak'st;

In the Winter it forsak'st,

And divert'st thy self awhile

Near the Memphian Towers, or Nile;

But Love in my suff'ring breast

Builds, and never quits his nest;

First one Love's hatched; when that flies,

In the shell another lies;

Then a third is half expos'd;

Then a whole brood is disclos'd,

Which for meat still peeping cry,

Whilst the others that can fly

Do their callow brethren feed,

And grown up, they young ones breed.

What then will become of me,

Bound to pain incessantly,

Whilst so many Loves, conspire

On my heart by turns to tire!

XXXIV

THOUGH my aged head be gray

And thy youth more fresh then May,

Fly me not; oh rather see

In this wreath how gracefully

Roses with pale Lillies join:

Learn of them, so let us twine.

Europa XXXV

THIS the figure is of Jove,

To a Bull transform'd by Love,

On whose back the Tyrian Maid

Through the Surges was convaid:

See how swiftly he the wide

Sea doth with strong hoofs divide;

He (and he alone) could swim,

None o' th' Herd ere follow'd him.

XXXVI

VEX no more thy self and me

With demure Philosophy;

Hollow precepts, only fit

To amuse the busy wit;

Teach me brisk Lyæus' rites;

Teach me Venus' blithe delights;

Jove loves Water, give me Wine;

That my soul ere I resign

May this cure of sorrow have;

There's no drinking in the Grave.

The Spring XXXVII

SEE the Spring herself discloses,

And the Graces gather Roses:

See how the becalmed Seas

Now their swelling waves appease;

How the Duck swims, how the Crane

Comes from Winter Home again;

See how Titan's cheerful ray

Chaseth the dark Clouds away;

Now in their new robes of green

Are the Plowman's labours seen:

Now the lusty teeming Earth

Springs each hour with new birth;

Now the Olive blooms: the Vine

Now doth with plump pendants shine;

And with leaves and blossoms now

Freshly bourgeons every bough.

XXXVIII

OLD I am, yet can (I think)

Those that younger are out-drink;

When I dance, no staff I take

But a well fill'd Bottle shake:

He that doth in war delight

Come and with these arms let's fight;

Fill the Cup, let loose a flood

Of the rich Grape's luscious blood;

Old I am, and therefore may

Like Silenus drink and play.

XXXIX

WHEN I ply the cheering Bowl

Brisk Lyæus through my soul

Straight such lively joy diffuses

That I sing, and bless the Muses;

Full of Wine I cast behind

All my sorrows to the wind;

Full of Wine my head I crown

Roving loosely up and down;

Full of Wine I praise the life

Calmly ignorant of strife;

Full of Wine I court some Fair,

And Cythera's worth declare;

Full of Wine my close thoughts I

To my jovial Friends untie:

Wine makes age with new years sprout:

Wine denied, my life goes out.

The Bee XL

LOVE, a bee that lurked among

Roses saw not, and was stung;

Who for his hurt finger crying,

Running sometimes, sometimes flying,

Doth to his fair Mother hie,

And "Oh help," cries he, "I die;

A wing'd Snake hath bitten me,

Call'd by country men a Bee."

At which Venus, "If such smart

A bee's little sting impart,

How much greater is the pain

They whom thou hast hurt sustain?"

XLI

WHILST our Joys with wine we raise

Youthful Bacchus we will praise:

Bacchus dancing did invent;

Bacchus is on songs intent;

Bacchus teacheth Love to court,

And his Mother how to sport;

Graceful confidence He lends;

He oppressive trouble ends;

To the Bowl when we repair,

Grief doth vanish into air;

Drink we then, and drown all sorrow;

All our care not knows the morrow;

Life is dark, let's dance and play,

They that will be troubled may;

We our joys with wine will raise,

Youthful Bacchus we will praise.

XLII

I DIVINE Lyeus prize,

Who with mirth and wit supplies:

Compast with a Jovial Quire,

I affect to touch the Lyre:

But of all, my greatest Joy

Is with sprightly Maids to toy:

My free heart no Envy bears,

Nor another's envy fears;

Proof against invective wrongs,

Brittle shafts of pois'nous tongues.

Wine with quarrels sour'd I hate,

Or feasts season'd with debate:

But I love a harmless Measure;

Life to Quiet hath no pleasure.

The Grasshopper XLIII

GRASSHOPPER thrice-happy! who

Sipping the cool morning dew,

Queen-like chirpest all the day

Seated on some verdant spray;

Thine is all what ere earth brings,

Or the hours with laden wings;

Thee, the Ploughman calls his Joy,

'Cause thou nothing dost destroy:

Thou by all art honour'd; All

Thee the Spring's sweet Prophet call;

By the Muses thou admir'd,

By Apollo art inspir'd,

Ageless, ever singing, good,

Without passion, flesh or blood;

Oh how near thy happy state

Comes the Gods to imitate!

The Dream XLIV

AS I late in slumber lay

Wing'd me thought I ran away,

But Love (his feet clogg'd with Lead)

As thus up and down I fled

Following caught me instantly;

What may this strange dream imply?

What but this? that in my heart

Though a thousand Loves had part,

I shall now (their snares declin'd)

To this only be confin'd.

Love's Arrows XLV

IN the Lemnian Forge of late

Vulcan making Arrows sate;

Whilst with Honey their barb'd points

Venus, Love with Gall anoints:

Armed Mars by chance comes there,

Brandishing a sturdy Spear,

And in scorn the little shaft

Off'ring to take up, he laught:

This (saith Love) which thou dost slight

Is not (if thou try it) light;

Up Mars takes it, Venus smil'd;

But he (sighing) to the Child:

Take it, cries, its weight I feel;

Nay (says Love) e'en keep it still.

Gold XLVI

NOT to love a pain is deem'd,

And to love's the same esteem'd:

But of all, the greatest pain

Is to love unlov'd again;

Birth in love is now rejected,

Parts and Arts are disrespected,

Only Gold is look'd upon;

A curse take him that was won

First to doat upon it; hence

Springs 'twixt Brothers difference;

This makes Parents slighted; this

War's dire cause and fuel is:

And what's worst, by this alone

Are we Lovers overthrown.

XLVII

YOUNG men dancing, and the old

Sporting I with joy behold;

But an old man gay and free

Dancing most I love to see:

Age and youth alike he shares,

For his Heart belies his Hairs.

XLVIII

BRING me hither Homer's lute,

Taught with mirth (not wars) to suit;

Reach a full Cup, that I may

All the laws of Wine obey,

Drink, and dance, and to the Lyre

Sing what Bacchus shall inspire.

XLIX

BEST of Painters come, pursue

What our Muse invites thee to,

And Lyeus, whose shrill Flute

Vies with her harmonious Lute;

Draw me a full City, where

Several shapes of mirth appear;

And the Laws of Love, if cold

Wax so great a flame can hold.

L

WHO his cups can stoutly bear,

In his cups despiseth fear,

In his cups can nimbly dance,

Him Lyeus will advance:

Nectar of us mortals Wine,

The glad offspring of the Vine,

Screen'd with leaves, preserv'd within

The plump Grape's transparent skin,

In the Body all diseases,

In the Soul all grief appeases.

On a Basin wherein Venus was engrav'd LI

WHAT bold hand the Sea engraves

Whilst its undetermin'd waves

In a Dish's narrow Round

Art's more powerful rage doth bound?

See, by some Promethean mind

Cytherea there design'd,

Mother of the Deities,

Expos'd naked to our eyes

In all parts, save those alone

Modesty will not have shown,

Which for covering only have

The thin Mantle of a wave:

On the surface of the Main,

Which a smiling calm lays plain,

She, like frothy Sedges, swims

And displays her snowy Limbs:

Whilst the foaming billow swells

As her breast its force repels,

And her form striving to hide

Her doth by her Neck divide,

Like a Lily round beset

By the Purple Violet;

Loves, who Dolphins do bestride,

O'er the silver surges ride,

And with many a wanton smile

Lovers of their hearts beguile;

Whilst the People of the Flood

To her side, like Wantons, scud.

The Vintage LII

MEN and Maids at time of year

The ripe clusters jointly bear

To the Press, but in when thrown

They by Men are trod alone,

Who in Bacchus' praises join,

Squeeze the Grape, let out the Wine:

Oh with what delight they spy

The new must when tun'd work high!

Which if old Men freely take,

Their gray heads and heels they shake;

And a young man, if he find

Some fair maid to sleep resign'd

In the shade, he straight goes to her,

Wakes, and roundly 'gins to woo her;

Whilst Love slyly stealing in

Tempts her in the pleasing sin:

Yet she long resists his offers,

Nor will hear what ere he profers,

Till perceiving that his prayer

Melts into regardless air,

Her, who seemingly refrains,

He by pleasing force constrains;

Wine doth boldness thus dispence,

Teaching young men insolence.

The Rose LIII

WITH the flowry crowned Spring

Now the Vernal Rose we sing;

Sons of mirth, your sprightly lays

Mix with ours, to sound its praise:

Rose, the Gods' and Men's sweet flower;

Rose, the Grace's Paramour;

This of Muses the delight;

This is Venus' Favourite;

Sweet, when guarded by sharp Thorns;

Sweet, when it soft hands adorns;

How at mirthful boards admir'd!

How at Bacchus' Feasts desir'd!

Fair without it what is born?

Rosy finger'd is the Morn;

Rosy arm'd the Nymphs we name;

Rosy-cheek'd Love's Queen proclaim:

This relief 'gainst sickness lends;

This the very dead befriends;

This Time's malice doth prevent,

Old retains its youthful Scent.

When Cythera from the Main,

Pallas sprung from Jove's cracked Brain,

Then the Rose receiv'd its Birth

From the youthful teeming Earth;

Every God was its Protector,

Wat'ring it by turns with Nectar,

Till from Thorns it grew, and prov'd

Of Lyeus the belov'd.

LIV

WHEN I see the young men play,

Young me thinks I am as they;

And my aged thoughts lay'd by,

To the Dance, with Joy I fly:

Come, a flowry Chaplet lend me,

Youth, and mirthful thoughts attend me;

Age be gone, we'll dance among

Those that young are and be young:

Bring some Wine, Boy, fill about;

You shall see the old Man's stout;

Who can laugh and topple too,

And be mad as well as you.

LV

HORSES plainly are descried

By the Mark upon their side:

Parthians are distinguished

By the Miters on their Head:

But from all Men else a Lover

I can easily discover,

For upon his easy Breast

Love his Brand-mark hath imprest.