Classic Poem

Talk not to me of pedant rules;
I leave debates to learned fools,
Who solemnly in form advise,
At best impertinently wise.
To me more pleasing precepts give,
And teach the science how to live;
To bury in the friendly draught,
Sorrows that spring from too much thought;
To learn soft lessons from the fair,
How life may glide exempt from care.
Alas! I'm old! I see my head,
With hoary locks by Time o'erspread;
Then instant be the goblet brought,
To make me young—at least in thought.
Alas! incessant speeds the day
When I must mix with common clay,
When I must tread the dismal shore,
And dream of love and wine no more.