Odes 4.11 (Creech): Est Mihi Nonum

I Keep some Casks of racy Wines
Full nine years old; to Crown thy hair
My Parsly grows; my Ivy twines,
To grace thy head, and make Thee fair:

My Rooms well furnish'd joy proclaim,
My Altar Crown'd with Sacred Wood
And Vervine chast, expects her Lamb,
And thirsts to drink the promis'd Blood.

All hands at work, my Boys and Maids
With busy hast the Feast prepare,
My Torches raise their trembling Heads
And roll dark Volumes thro the Air:

But now to tell what joys to Night
I call Thee to; I keep the Ide
That April's Month the choice delight
Of Sea-born Venus doth divide:

A Day of Joy and Mirth appears,
And almost dearer than my own;
It shuts Mecaenas former years,
And brings another gently on:

That Telephus whom you desire
A richer Maid, and Beauty gains
Young, Wanton, Gay, and full of fire,
And holds him fast in pleasing Chains:

Burnt Phaëton checks hopes too high,
From Heaven by dreadful Thunder thrown;
And Pegasus refus'd to fly
And threw his mortal Rider down:

The Phillis stop thy rising Flame,
And all ambitious thoughts remove,
'Tis Sin to hunt too great a Game,
And fly at an unequal Love:

Come, come, my last, my dearest Miss,
The last I can I must adore;
No Face shall e're provoke a Kiss;
And other Beauty warm no more:

Come learn, my Dear, some pleasing Song,
Which you with a surprising Air
Might warble o're your charming Tongue;
For Songs are good to lessen Care: