Anacreon's Blessing

WHen Sleep had clos'd my weary Eyes,
Sleep, that Door of Mysteries;
On wing'd Chimaera's straight convey'd,
Where Centinels of Visions play'd
Before the Gates of Night and Shade;
Arriv'd at spacious Fairy Land,
With Sibyl's Bough, and Morpheus Wand,
My Fancy on an Object wrought,
An Object worthy of a thought;
That which by day-time did engage
My mind in a Poetick Rage,
When all my Senses seal'd up, lay
Free from the business of the day;
My roving Brains again pursu'd,
(Thô the Conception was but rude)
And once again with Joy renew'd.
Methought Anacreon appear'd,
An old man with a Reverend Beard,
Old, yet had a graceful look;
With a Bottle and a Book;
His breath smelt strong of fragrant Wine,
(Ah cursed be the fatal Vine!)
His Lips with Kisses worn, and drie,
His ruffled Cheeks of Scarlet die,
His Spaniel Cupid running by.
When by degrees he nearer drew,
My Face, my Gate, and Habit knew.
When falling prostrate on the ground,
As a Son in Duty bound,
Ten thousand times to speak I strove,
Ten thousand times struck dumb by Love.
Transports of Wonder and Surprize
Ravisht my Soul, and burst out of my Eyes:
But he preventing my Petition,
With a prophetical suspicion,
Stroaking my Lethargick head,
In token of his Blessing, said,
"Thy Vow is heard, and it is done,
"The Father's Merits for the Son,
"Make thee, thô an unworthy Heir,
"Fall to Praise, instead of Prayer.
"Go lay claim unto my Strains,
"My Muse inspire thy fruitful Brains,
"As a Reward for all thy pains.
"However, aim thou not too high;
"Some at their lowest higher flie,
"Than they that soar above the Skie;
" Than they that soaring, never fell;
"Know your own sphere, strive to excel
"In that to which your Genius leads.
"I never sung Heroick deeds,
"Nay, should attempt it, all in vain,
"To write in Homer's lofty strain:
"Yet in my own peculiar way
"Am every whit as fam'd as they.
"But one Rule more before we go:
"Let not your Fancy ebb and flow
"As your Brain on Spirits feeds,
"'T helps one Defect, and twenty breeds.
"Wine will nothing solid settle;
"Hones by sharpning, wear the Mettle.
"Thô the bewitching Cups of Liquor
"Made elevated thoughts the quicker,
"Yet the Grapestone stop'd my breath,
"The Grape my life, the Grape my death.
This said, Anacreon smil'd and sneez'd,
A happy Omen he was pleas'd:
Then pull'd a Garland from his head,
(The Garland was of Myrtle made,
The Garland smelt of Love and Wine,
Anacreontique, sweet, and fine)
With Violets, Palms, and Roses wrought,
And for a Song of Flora bought.
This he about my Temples twin'd,
And rapt in a strong blast of wind,
Left me and sordid Earth behind.
I for a Legacy did call,
He let his Book and Spaniel fall.
When out of sight the Coach was gone,
I put Anacreon's Garland on.
How glad I was to be undone!
The Philtre did effectual prove,
And nothing can these Charms remove;
But I am plung'd in the Abyss of endless Love.