Odes 3.28 (Creech): Festo Quid Potius

WHat should I do at Neptune's Feast,
What better should my thoughts employ,
What should I do but treat my guest,
And show the greatness of my Joy?
Wine, Lyde, Wine; storm sober Sense,
My Bowl is strong, and that will make a weak defence.

Do'st see how half the day is past?
And yet as if wing'd Time would stay,
You still the precious minutes wast;
And lead me on with slow delay.
Wine, Lyde, Wine; to raise my flame,
Old lusty Wine, and seal'd with Bibulus's name.

I'le sing great Neptune bound by Rocks,
I'le sing the Nereids Sea-green hair;
And how they sit, and spread their locks
To tempt the greedy Mariner:
You to your Harp Latona sing,
And Cynthia's Arrows shot from an unerring string.

Both her who drawn by murmuring Doves
To Paphos guides with silken strings,
Whilst Cupids wait, and wanton Loves
Fan their warm Mother with their wings:
Just songs and thanks shall praise the Night,
For lingring Long, and giving space for gay delight.