To Live Merrily

Robert Herrick

Robert Herrick portrait

1591 to 1674

Poem Image
Track 1

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Are lost i' th' funeral fire.
Now, to Tibullus next,
Homer, this health to thee!
For now each tree does wear,
Of ashes scarce suffice
Here burnt, whose small return
With endless life are crown'd.
In wine, whose each cup's worth
Catullus!  I quaff up
To Ovid; and suppose
That this presents to me.
And when all bodies meet
Behold! Tibullus lies
Nor cheek or tongue be dumb;
In Lethe to be drown'd;
When pyramids, as men,
Th' Arabian dew besmears
Rich beads of amber here.
The golden pomp is come.
A goblet next I'll drink
Thy Thyrse, and bite the Bays!
And my retorted hairs.
Now is the time for mirth;
—But stay, I see a text,
O Bacchus!  cool thy rays;
Of aromatic wine,
The world had all one nose.
An Indian commonwealth.
To pledge this second health
My uncontrolled brow,
Round, round, the roof does run;
Then this immensive cup
The golden pomp is come;
In sack of such a kind,
Made of her pap and gum,
This flood I drink to thee;
And being ravish'd thus,
Then only numbers sweet
Or frantic I shall eat
Now reigns the Rose, and now
That it would make thee see,
Though thou wert ne'er so blind
To that terse muse of thine.
Wild I am now with heat:
They only will aspire,
For with th' flowery earth
Trust to good verses then;
Come, I will drink a tun
Made he the pledge, he'd think
To my Propertius.
To fill a little urn.
Next, Virgil I'll call forth,

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Poet portrait