Here we securely live, and eat <br />The cream of meat; <br />And keep eternal fires, <br />By which we sit, and do divine, <br />As wine <br />And rage inspires. <br /> <br />If full, we charm; then call upon <br />Anacreon <br />To grace the frantic Thyrse: <br />And having drunk, we raise a shout <br />Throughout, <br />To praise his verse. <br /> <br />Then cause we Horace to be read, <br />Which sung or said, <br />A goblet, to the brim, <br />Of lyric wine, both swell'd and crown'd, <br />Around <br />We quaff to him. <br /> <br />Thus, thus we live, and spend the hours <br />In wine and flowers; <br />And make the frolic year, <br />The month, the week, the instant day <br />To stay <br />The longer here. <br /> <br />--Come then, brave Knight, and see the cell <br />Wherein I dwell; <br />And my enchantments too; <br />Which love and noble freedom is:-- <br />And this <br />Shall fetter you. <br /> <br />Take horse, and come; or be so kind <br />To send your mind, <br />Though but in numbers few:-- <br />And I shall think I have the heart <br />Or part <br />Of Clipsby Crew.<br /><br />Robert Herrick<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/an-ode-to-sir-clipsby-crew/
