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With what sublimest Joy from noisy Town,
At Rural Seat, Lucretius retir'd,
Flaccus, untainted by perplexing Cares,
Where the white Poplar, and the lofty Pine
Join Neighbouring Boughs, sweet Hospitable shade
Creating, from Phæbean Rays secure,
A cool Retreat, with few well chosen Friends
On flowry Mead Recumbent, spent the Hours
In Mirth Innocuous, and Alternate Verse!
With Roses Interwoven, Poplar wreaths
Their Temples bind, dress of Sylvestrian Gods;
Choicest Nectarian Juice Crown'd largest Bowles,
And overlook'd the lid, alluring sight,
Of fragrant Scent, attractive, tast Divine!
Whether from Formian Grape depress'd, Falern
Or Setin, Massic, Gauran or Sabine,
Lesbian or Cæcuban, the cheating Bowl
Mov'd briskly round, and spur'd their heightned Wit
To sing Mecænas praise their Patron kind.
But we, not as our Pristrin fires repair
T' umbrageous Grot or Vale, but when the Sun
Faintly from Western Skies his Rays oblique
Darts slopping, and to Thetis watry Lap
Hastens in prone Career, with Friends Select
Swiftly we hie to Devil Young or Old
Jocund
