Odes 2.11 (Creech): Quid Bellicosus

WHat fierce Cantabrians, what the Scythians dare,
Make, Friend, no object of thy care;
Whilst raging Floods, and Adria's Tide
Confine their force, and arms divide,
Secure we laugh at all the threats of War:

Let no concern, no cares for Life approach,
It lasts not long, and asks not much;
But see our years do swiftly move,
Our Nimble Youth and Beauty fades,
Dry Age with Cares will crowd our Heads:
And leave no room for easy Rest and Love:

Spring Flowers not always equal Beauties wear,
Nor Moons with equal Beams appear
As when at full they brightly shin'd;
Then why should you disturb your Mind
So much too narrow for eternal Care?

Why underneath a pleasing Myrtle shade
On flowry Banks supinely laid,
Are we so slow to speed a Day;
And whilst grey Hairs are crown'd with Rose,
Or odorous Oyl our Heads o'reflows
Drink all our Troubles and our Cares away?

Brisk Bacchus soon will sordid Cares refine,
And make dull Melancholly shine;
What Boy waits there, what Boy to bring
Some cooler Streams from yonder Spring
To quench the fury of my flaming Wine?

What ready Servant waits to call my Miss,
And who coy Lyde will entice?
Bid Lyde come, we are in hast;
Bid Lyde come, her harp prepare,
Like Spartans loosely bind her hair;
For Love may Ebb, and then her time is past.