And keep eternal fires,
By which we sit, and do divine,
As wine
And rage inspires.
If full, we charm; then call upon
To grace the frantic Thyrse:
And having drunk, we raise a shout
To praise his verse.
Then cause we Horace to be read,
Which sung or said,
A goblet, to the brim,
Of lyric wine, both swell’d and crown’d,
We quaff to him.
Thus, thus we live, and spend the hours
In wine and flowers;
And make the frolic year,
The month, the week, the instant day
To stay
The longer here.
–Come then, brave Knight, and see the cell
Wherein I dwell;
And my enchantments too;
Which love and noble freedom is:–
And this
Shall fetter you.
Take horse, and come; or be so kind
To send your mind,
Though but in numbers few:–
And I shall think I have the heart
Or part
Of Clipsby Crew.

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