Where be the Graces? Where be those fair Three? In any hand, they may not absent be! They to the Gods are dear: And they can humbly Teach us, ourselves to bear, And do things comely. They, and the Muses, rise both from one stem: They grace the Muses; and the Muses, them. Bring forth your flagons, filled with sparkling wine (Whereon swollen BACCHUS, crownèd with a vine, Is graven); and fill out! It well bestowing To every man about, In goblets flowing! Let not a man drink, but in draughts profound! To our god PHŒBUS, let the Health go round! Let your Jests fly at large; yet therewithal See they be Salt, but yet not mixed with Gall! Not tending to disgrace: But fairly given, Becoming well the place, Modest and even, That they, with tickling pleasure, may provoke Laughter in him on whom the Jest is broke. Or if the deeds of Heroes ye rehearse: Let them be sung in so well-ordered Verse, That each word have its weight, Yet run with pleasure! Holding one stately height In so brave measure That they may make the stiffest storm seem weak; And damp JOVE'S thunder, when it loud'st doth speak. And if ye list to exercise your vein, Or in the Sock, or in the Buskined strain; Let Art and Nature go One with the other! Yet so, that Art may show Nature her mother: The thick-brained audience lively to awake, Till with shrill claps the Theatre do shake. Sing Hymns to BACCHUS then, with hands upreared! Offer to JOVE, who most is to be feared! From him the Muse we have. From him proceedeth More than we dare to crave. 'Tis he that feedeth Them, whom the World would starve. Then let the lyre Sound! whilst his altars endless flames expire. _To his Rival._ [Illustration] Her loved I most, By thee that's lost, Though she were won with leisure; She was my gain: But to my pain, Thou spoilest me of my treasure The ship full fraught With gold, far sought, Though ne'er so wisely helmèd, May suffer wrack In sailing back, By tempest overwhelmèd. But She, good Sir! Did not prefer You, for that I was ranging: But for that She Found faith in me, And She loved to be changing. Therefore boast not Your happy lot; Be silent now you have her! The time I knew She slighted you, When I was in her favour. None stands so fast But may be cast By Fortune, and disgracèd: Once did I wear Her garter there, Where you her glove have placèd.