When sultry glows the uninviting Plain,
And his cool Covert seeks the noon-burnt Swain,
Our Loves, oft savour'd by th' indulging Hour,
Find their sweet Solace in the silent Bower;
Where the thick Trees, in length'ning Ranks display'd,
Please with their Fruit, and solace with their Shack.
Here dewy Mulb'ries their Refreshment lend,
And thro' the Grove with burthen'd Boughs extend
The spreading Leaves with salutary Food
Sustain the tender Silk-worm's toiling Brood;
Whose labour'd Webs the shady Verdure crown,
And dress their Surface with a shining Down.
Such on Acantbus ' woolly Leaves are bred,
And where their silken Groves the Seres spread.
Lo! on the Trees, that bend with clust'ring Weight,
The juicy Berries swell in purple State.
Not Apples that Alcinous' Gardens bear,
The melting Plum, nor fam'd Crustumian Pear,
Nor Fruits of golden, or transparent Rind,
In relish equal this delicious Kind.
Hence thy dear Hands an artful Wine produce,
And mingling Spices warm the pleasing Juice.
The Rhetic Grape not purer Nectar yields,
Nor the proud Growth of rich Falernian Fields.
Let the cool Draught my thirsty Veins supply:
When droughty Sirius taints the fervid Sky,
Thy Gifts, O Bacchus! more intemp'rate prove,
And to rash Heats th' unruly Passions move.
By Wine enflam'd, young Ammon basely spilt
His Friend's warm Gore, an unexampled Guilt.
Provok'd by Wine, the Centaurs' heated Train
Presum'd with Blood the bridal Board to stain.
Wine arm'd with Rage the mad Ciconian Crew,
Whose Hands profane the sacred Thracian slew.
Anacreon 's Fate its Mischiefs shall enrol,
And direful Circe 's fascinating Bowl.
Safe may my Fair this temp'rate Liquor ply,
Nor fear a Threat'ning from its sanguine Die:
A borrow'd Tincture, for with native White
The pendent Berries first allur'd the Sight,
Till hapless Pyramus , by Love betray'd,
Found the torn Mantle of th' expected Maid,
Mistaken Omen, and with fatal Haste
On the drawn Steel his blooming Body cast.
The snowy Fruit that there untainted grew,
Wash'd with his Gore, forsook their silver Hue;
Their swelling Pores receive a deep'ning Stain,
And still the Lover's Mem'ry they retain.
For as the circling Year with Fruit returns,
The pitying Tree in graceful Sable mourns.
Thou , who, so oft beneath its Verdure plac'd,
Dost the cool Berry with thy Lover taste:
When with warm Lips you press the purple Dew,
And on your snowy Hands the Print you view,
To let your gen'rous Pity more appear,
Dilute the harmless Crimson with a Tear.
And his cool Covert seeks the noon-burnt Swain,
Our Loves, oft savour'd by th' indulging Hour,
Find their sweet Solace in the silent Bower;
Where the thick Trees, in length'ning Ranks display'd,
Please with their Fruit, and solace with their Shack.
Here dewy Mulb'ries their Refreshment lend,
And thro' the Grove with burthen'd Boughs extend
The spreading Leaves with salutary Food
Sustain the tender Silk-worm's toiling Brood;
Whose labour'd Webs the shady Verdure crown,
And dress their Surface with a shining Down.
Such on Acantbus ' woolly Leaves are bred,
And where their silken Groves the Seres spread.
Lo! on the Trees, that bend with clust'ring Weight,
The juicy Berries swell in purple State.
Not Apples that Alcinous' Gardens bear,
The melting Plum, nor fam'd Crustumian Pear,
Nor Fruits of golden, or transparent Rind,
In relish equal this delicious Kind.
Hence thy dear Hands an artful Wine produce,
And mingling Spices warm the pleasing Juice.
The Rhetic Grape not purer Nectar yields,
Nor the proud Growth of rich Falernian Fields.
Let the cool Draught my thirsty Veins supply:
When droughty Sirius taints the fervid Sky,
Thy Gifts, O Bacchus! more intemp'rate prove,
And to rash Heats th' unruly Passions move.
By Wine enflam'd, young Ammon basely spilt
His Friend's warm Gore, an unexampled Guilt.
Provok'd by Wine, the Centaurs' heated Train
Presum'd with Blood the bridal Board to stain.
Wine arm'd with Rage the mad Ciconian Crew,
Whose Hands profane the sacred Thracian slew.
Anacreon 's Fate its Mischiefs shall enrol,
And direful Circe 's fascinating Bowl.
Safe may my Fair this temp'rate Liquor ply,
Nor fear a Threat'ning from its sanguine Die:
A borrow'd Tincture, for with native White
The pendent Berries first allur'd the Sight,
Till hapless Pyramus , by Love betray'd,
Found the torn Mantle of th' expected Maid,
Mistaken Omen, and with fatal Haste
On the drawn Steel his blooming Body cast.
The snowy Fruit that there untainted grew,
Wash'd with his Gore, forsook their silver Hue;
Their swelling Pores receive a deep'ning Stain,
And still the Lover's Mem'ry they retain.
For as the circling Year with Fruit returns,
The pitying Tree in graceful Sable mourns.
Thou , who, so oft beneath its Verdure plac'd,
Dost the cool Berry with thy Lover taste:
When with warm Lips you press the purple Dew,
And on your snowy Hands the Print you view,
To let your gen'rous Pity more appear,
Dilute the harmless Crimson with a Tear.