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I drank; I lik'd it not: 'twas Rage; 'twas Noise; An airy Scene of transitory Joys. In vain I trusted, that the flowing Bowl Would banish Sorrow, and enlarge the Soul. To the late Revel, and protracted Feast Wild Dreams succeeded, and disorder'd Rest; And as at Dawn of Morn fair Reason's Light Broke thro' the Fumes and Phantoms of the Night, What had been said, I ask'd my Soul, what done; How flow'd our Mirth, and whence the Source begun. Perhaps the Jest that charm’d the sprightly Croud, And made the Jovial Table laugh so loud, To some false 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 last 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

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Sæpius incauto pronum devolvier ore
Refponfum torquetur atrox, spargitque vicissim
Insanas lites, alienaque jurgia Siccis.

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

Ah miserum! rabies quem cæca atrique dolores
Diverfis hinc inde malis involvere certant !
Heu! sperat Curarum haurire oblivia; nescit
Intereà fævo considere funditùs hauftu
Morborum omne genus; lentæ intolerabile pondus
Desidiæ, Errores Animi, Cerebrique natantis
Somnia, quæ pafsu sequitur mors tarda filenti:
Nec videt innexis circùm cratera corollis
Lethiferofque Angues, atrasque latere Colubras.

Ecquid inexpertum reftat, quod pectoris ægri
Mulceat infanos æstus, Curafque resolvat?
Restat Amor : propera, salientibus imbibe venis
Spem lætam, blandosque accende Cupidinis ignes;
Hanc tandem extremam ne parce adhibere medelam
Liberiore animo, totafque exquirere vires.

Irrevocable? the too prompt Reply,
Seed of feyere Distrust, and fierce Debate;
What We should shun, and what we ought to hate.

Add too the Blood impoverish'd, and the Course Of Health suppress'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, severe Disease, Mem'ry confus'd, and interrupted Thought, Death's Harbingers, lye latent in the Draught: And in the Flow'rs that wreath the sparkling Bowl, Fell Adders hiss, 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, solicit young Defire, And boldly bid thy anxious Soul explore This last great Remedy's Mysterious Pow'r.

Why

Quis malus hic languor? vel quæ tam sera moratur
Segnities ? rapienda Animus cur gaudia differt?
Quin agite ô fidi citius properate ministri,
Lætitiæque alacres optata adducite dona.
Omnis Amicarum cætus Sponsæque frequentes
Indutæ nitidos, celebrent convivia, cultus;
Quas plaga nostra tulit, quas extera regna, volentum
Munera seu Regum fuerint, seu præmia Martis.
Ordine quæque suo noftri ftudiofa favoris
Prodeat, & meritam referet Pulcherrima palmam.

Hæc ubi dieta, onerant menfas, cyathofque coronant;
Unà omnes studiifque favent, fremituque fecundo;
Nec mora, progreditur Nympharum fplendidus Ordo:
Ante alias Una arripuit tenuitque morantes
Ardentesque oculos: memori quàm pectore servo
Semina nascentis flammæ, dulcesque dolorum
Primitias! Virgo plenis jam nubilis annis,
Gentis erat Phariæ: quæ læti gratia vultùs
Spirabat! quæ forma! ut mollia membra movebat,
Incefsu facili greffus ornata decoros!
Pectore candenti teretes tumuere papillæ,
Nec Zona cohibente: fluebat nigra foluto
Cæsaries nodo, multoque errabat in orbe
Per nitidos diffusa humeros & lactea Colla. Ore

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Why therefore hesitates my doubtful Breast?
Why ceases it one Moment to be blest?
Fly swift, my Friends; my Servants, fly; imploy
Yourinstant Pains to bring your Master Joy.
Let all my Wives and Concubines be dress’d:
Let them to-night attend the Royal Feast;
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 most Worthy shall obtain the Grace.

I said: the Feaft was sery'd: the Bowl was crown'd:
To the King's Pleasure went the mirthful Round:
The Women came: as Cuftoms wills, they past:
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 shap'd her Limbs; and Beauty deck'd her Face:
Easy her Motion seemd, serene her Air:
Full, tho’unzon'd, her Bofom rose: 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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