A Lyric to Mirth

While the milder fates consent,
Let's enjoy our merriment :
Drink, and dance, and pipe, and play ;
Kiss our dollies night and day :
Crowned with clusters of the vine,
Let us sit, and quaff our wine.
Call on Bacchus, chant his praise ;
Shake the thyrse,* and bite the bays :
Rouse Anacreon from the dead,
And return him drunk to bed :
Sing o'er Horace, for ere long
Death will come and mar the song :
Then shall Wilson and Gotiere**
Never sing or play more here.



thyrse - a cluster of flowers


**Wilson--Dr. John Wilson--singer, composer,
one of King Charles' musicians (1594-1673).
Gotiere--Jacques Gouter--a French musician at the
court of Charles I.

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