Ode: No; ye beckon me in vain

No; ye beckon me in vain,
Your allurements I disdain,
Powers of riot! God of wine,
Though thy glist'ning forehead shine
Through the garland which around
Is so negligently bound;
Tho Joy lighten from thy eye;
Tho the purple goblet high
With nectar foam; on thy right hand
Tho the soul of Pleasure stand,
And Wit, and unlaced Gaiety,
Which, with Humour ever free,
Jest delighted; while beside
Laughter fits, and ope'ing wide
His mouth, lets forth a pealing din,
And shakes his jolly double chin:
God of wine, thou call'st in vain,
Thy allurements I disdain.

Lo, she comes, the Cyprian Queen!
Mark her soul-inflaming mien:
Thinly clad, the Luscious Fair
In Modesty's dissembled air;
Mark the faintly-broken sighs;
See her panting bosom rise;
Kindred orbs of snowy white
Gently swelling to the sight;
Languid eyes, extinct their fire,
Well they speak intense desire.

Does not maddening Fancy rove
Through every vein provoking love?
Snatch, O snatch me to thy arms,
Feast on willing Beauty's charms,
Luxurious feast without controul,
And bathe in rapture all thy soul.

Cyprian Venus, hence away,
Scorn attends thy longer stay;
I detest the bought embrace;
Well I know thy practised face:
Hence to unsuspicious Youth,
Palm on him pretence for truth.
By Experience rightly taught,
Mine be Reason's sober thought;
Temperance, and her frugal hoard,
Slender fare, and homely board;
Mine be calm, domestic life,
The nuptial bed, the tender wife;
The smiling infant on my knee,
Chirping it's little tale with glee.
So shall Health attend me still,
So shall Pleasure drink her fill
From the purest source of joy;
So shall Love without alloy,
Frolic o'er the hallow'd ground,
And wave his genial wing around.

Cyprian Venus, to my eyes,
When these home-felt transports rise,
Bacchus' riot-breeding train,
And thy embraces I disdain.