Now is the time for mirth, <br /> Nor cheek or tongue be dumb; <br />For with the flow'ry earth <br /> The golden pomp is come. <br /> <br />The golden pomp is come; <br /> For now each tree does wear, <br />Made of her pap and gum, <br /> Rich beads of amber here. <br /> <br />Now reigns the rose, and now <br /> Th' Arabian dew besmears <br />My uncontrolled brow <br /> And my retorted hairs. <br /> <br />Homer, this health to thee, <br /> In sack of such a kind <br />That it would make thee see <br /> Though thou wert ne'er so blind. <br /> <br />Next, Virgil I'll call forth <br /> To pledge this second health <br />In wine, whose each cup's worth <br /> An Indian commonwealth. <br /> <br />A goblet next I'll drink <br /> To Ovid, and suppose, <br />Made he the pledge, he'd think <br /> The world had all one nose. <br /> <br />Then this immensive cup <br /> Of aromatic wine, <br />Catullus, I quaff up <br /> To that terse muse of thine. <br /> <br />Wild I am now with heat; <br /> O Bacchus! cool thy rays! <br />Or frantic, I shall eat <br /> Thy thyrse, and bite the bays. <br /> <br />Round, round the roof does run; <br /> And being ravish'd thus, <br />Come, I will drink a tun <br /> To my Propertius. <br /> <br />Now, to Tibullus, next, <br /> This flood I drink to thee; <br />But stay, I see a text <br /> That this presents to me. <br /> <br />Behold, Tibullus lies <br /> Here burnt, whose small return <br />Of ashes scarce suffice <br /> To fill a little urn. <br /> <br />Trust to good verses then; <br /> They only will aspire, <br />When pyramids, as men, <br /> Are lost i' th' funeral fire. <br /> <br />And when all bodies meet, <br /> In Lethe to be drown'd, <br />Then only numbers sweet <br /> With endless life are crown'd.<br /><br />Robert Herrick<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-live-merrily-and-to-trust-to-good-verses/
