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I drank; I lik'd it not: 'twas Rage; 'twas Noife; An airy Scene of tranfitory Joys.

In vain I trusted, that the flowing Bowl
Would banish Sorrow, and enlarge the Soul.
To the late Revel, and protracted Feaft
Wild Dreams fucceeded, and diforder'd Reft;
And as at Dawn of Morn fair Reason's Light
Broke thro' the Fumes and Phantoms of the Night,
What had been faid, I ask'd my Soul, what done;
How flow'd our Mirth, and whence the Source begun.
Perhaps the Jeft that charm'd the sprightly Croud,
And made the Jovial Table laugh fo loud,
To fome falfe Notion ow'd it's poor Pretence,
To an ambiguous Word's perverted Sense,
To a wild Sonnet, or a wanton Air,
Offence and Torture to the fober Ear.

Perhaps, alas! the pleafing Stream was brought
From this Man's Error, from another's Fault;
From Topics which Good-nature would forget,
And Prudence mention with the laft Regret.

Add yet unnumber'd Ills, that lye unseen In the pernicious Draught; the Word obscene, Or harsh, which once elanc'd must ever fly

Sæpius incauto pronum devolvier ore
Refponfum torquetur atrox, fpargitque viciffim
Infanas lites, alienaque jurgia Siccis.

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Adde etiam exhauftas vini quòd largior ufus Sanguinis attenuat vires, carpitque Salutem.

Ah miferum! rabies quem cæca atrique dolores
Diverfis hinc inde malis involvere certant!
Heu! fperat Curarum haurire oblivia; nescit
Intereà fævo confidere funditùs hauftu

Morborum omne genus; lentæ intolerabile pondus
Defidiæ, Errores Animi, Cerebrique natantis
Somnia, quæ paffu fequitur mors tarda filenti:
Nec videt innexis circùm cratera corollis
Lethiferofque Angues, atrafque latere Colubras.

Ecquid inexpertum reftat, quod pectoris ægri Mulceat infanos æftus, Curafque refolvat? Reftat Amor propera, falientibus imbibe venis Spem lætam, blandofque accende Cupidinis ignes; Hanc tandem extremam ne parce adhibere medelam Liberiore animo, totafque exquirere vires.

Irrevocable? the too prompt Reply,

Seed of fevere Diftruft, and fierce Debate;

What We should shun, and what We ought to hate.

Add too the Blood impoverish'd, and the Course Of Health fupprefs'd by Wine's continu'd Force.

Unhappy Man! whom Sorrow thus and Rage
To diff'rent Ills alternately engage.

Who drinks, alas! but to forget; nor fees,
That melancholy Sloath, fevere Disease,
Mem'ry confus'd, and interrupted Thought,
Death's Harbingers, lye latent in the Draught:
And in the Flow'rs that wreath the fparkling Bowl,
Fell Adders hifs, and poys'nous Serpent roll.

Remains there Ought untry'd, that may remove Sickness of Mind, and heal the Bosom? --- Love, Love yet Remains: Indulge his genial Fire, Cherish fair Hope, folicit young Defire, And boldly bid thy anxious Soul explore This laft great Remedy's Myfterious Pow'r.

Why

Quis malus hic languor? vel quæ tam fera moratur Segnities? rapienda Animus cur gaudia differt? Quin agite ô fidi citius properate miniftri, Lætitiæque alacres optata adducite dona. Omnis Amicarum cætus Sponfæque frequentes Indutæ nitidos, 'celebrent convivia, cultus;

Quas plaga noftra tulit, quas extera regna, volentum Munera feu Regum fuerint, feu præmia Martis. Ordine quæque fuo noftri ftudiofa favoris

Prodeat, & meritam referet Pulcherrima palmam.

Hæc ubi dicta, onerant menfas, cyathofque coronant;
Unà omnes ftudiifque favent, fremituque fecundo;
Nec mora, progreditur Nympharum fplendidus Ordo:
Ante alias Una arripuit tenuitque morantes.
Ardentefque oculos: memori quàm pectore fervo
Semina nafcentis flammæ, dulcefque dolorum
Primitias! Virgo plenis jam nubilis annis,
Gentis erat Phariæ: quæ læti gratia vultûs

Spirabat! quæ forma! ut mollia membra movebat,
Inceffu facili greffus ornata decoros!
Pectore candenti teretes tumuere papillæ,
Nec Zona cohibente: fluebat nigra foluto
Cæfaries nodo, multoque errabat in orbe
Per nitidos diffufa humeros & lactea Colla.

Ore

Why therefore hefitates my doubtful Breast?
Why ceases it one Moment to 'be bleft?

Fly swift, my Friends; my Servants, fly; imploy
Your instant Pains to bring your Master Joy.
Let all my Wives and Concubines be drefs'd:
Let them to-night attend the Royal Feaft;
All ISRAEL'S Beauty, all the foreign Fair,
The Gifts of Princes, or the Spoils of War.
Before their Monarch They shall singly pass;
And the moft Worthy shall obtain the Grace.

I faid: the Feaft was ferv'd: the Bowl was crown'd:
To the King's Pleasure went the mirthful Round:
The Women came: as Cuftoms wills, they paft:
On One (O that distinguish'd One!) I cast

The fav'rite Glance: O! yet my Mind retains
That fond Beginning of my infant Pains.
Mature the Virgin was of EGYPT'S Race:

Grace fhap'd her Limbs; and Beauty deck'd her Face:

Easy her Motion feem'd, ferene her Air:

Full, tho' unzon'd, her Bofom rofe: her Hair

Unty'd, and ignorant of artful Aid,

Adown her Shoulders loosely lay display'd;

And in the Jetty Curls ten thousand CUPIDS play'd.

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