Classic Poem

The Syrian Hostesse, with a Greek Wreath crown'd,
Shaking her wither'd side to th'Bagpipes sound,
Drunk, 'fore the Tavern a loose Measure leads,
And with her elbow blows the squeaking Reeds.
Who would the Summers dusty labours ply,
That might on a soft Couch carowsing ly?
Here's Musick, Wine, Cups, and an Arbour made
Of cooling flags, that casts a grateful shade:
A Pipe whereon a Shepherd sweetly playes,
Whilst the Maenalian Cave resounds his layes:
A Hogshead of brisk wine new pierc'd: a Spring
Of pleasant Water ever murmuring:
Wreaths twisted with the purple Violet;
White Garlands with the blushing Rose beset;
And Osier Baskets with fair Lillies fraught
From the Bank-side by Achelois brought:
Fresh Cheese in Rushy Cradles layd to dry:
Soft Plums, by Autumn ripened leisurely:
Chessenuts, and Apples sweetly streakt with red;
Neat Ceres by young Love and Bacchus led:
Black Mulberries, an overcharged Vine;
Green Cowcumbers, that on their stalks decline:
The Gardens Guardian, with no dreadful look,
Nor other weapon than a pruning-hook.
Tabor and Pipe come hither: see, alasse,
Thy tir'd Beast sweats; spare him; our wel-lov'd Asse.
The Grassehopper chirps on her green seat,
The Lizard peeps out of his cold retreat;
Come, in this shade thy weary Limbs repose,
And crown thy drowsie Temples with the Rose.
A Maids Lip safely maist thou rifle here;
Away with such whose Foreheads are severe.
Flowers why reserv'st thou for unthankful Dust?
To thy cold Tomb wilt Thou these Garlands trust?
Bring Wine and Dice; hang them the morrow weigh:
Death warns, I come (saith he) live while you may .