Book VII, 27: On the Same

Anacreon, glory of Ionia, mayest thou among the dead be not without thy beloved revels, or without thy lyre, and still mayest thou sing with swimming eyes, shaking the entwined flowers that rest on thy essenced hair, turned towards Eurypyle, or Megisteus, or the locks of Thracian Smerdies, spouting sweet wine, thy robe drenched with the juice of the grape, wringing untempered nectar from its folds. For all thy life, O old man, was poured out as an offering to these three, the Muses, Bacchus, and Love.