A Paraphrase on the Eleventh Ode out of the First Book of Horace

Dear Silvia, let’s no farther strive,
To know how long we have to Live;
Let Busy Gown-men search to know
Their Fates above, while we
Contemplate Beauties greater Power below,
Whose only Smiles give Immortality;
But who seeks Fortune in a Star,
Aims at a Distance much too far,
She’s more inconstant than they are.
What though this year must be our last,
Faster than Time our Joys let’s hast;
Nor think of Ills to come, or past.
Give me but Love and Wine, I’ll ne’er
Complain my Destiny’s severe.
Since Life bears so uncertain Date,
With Pleasure we’ll attend our Fate,
And Chearfully go meet it at the Gate.
The Brave and Witty know no Fear or Sorrow,
Let us enjoy to day, we’ll dye to Morrow.