Already give an omen of their flight. O when will come the day, by heaven designed, When thou, the best and fairest of mankind, Drawn by white horses shalt in triumph ride, With conquered slaves attending on thy side; Slaves, that no longer can be safe in flight; } O glorious object, O surprising sight, } O day of public joy, too good to end in night! } On such a day, if thou, and, next to thee, Some beauty sits, the spectacle to see; If she inquire the names of conquered kings, Of mountains, rivers, and their hidden springs, Answer to all thou knowest; and, if need be, Of things unknown seem to speak knowingly. This is Euphrates, crowned with reeds; and there Flows the swift Tigris with his sea-green hair. Invent new names of things unknown before; Call this Armenia, that the Caspian shore; Call this a Mede, and that a Parthian youth; Talk probably, no matter for the truth. In feasts, as at our shows, new means abound; More pleasure there than that of wine is found. The Paphian goddess there her ambush lays; And Love betwixt the horns of Bacchus plays; Desires increase at every swelling draught; Brisk vapours add new vigour to the thought. There Cupid's purple wings no flight afford, But, wet with wine, he flutters on the board; He shakes his pinions, but he cannot move; Fixed he remains, and turns a maudlin love. Wine warms the blood, and makes the spirits flow; Care flies, and wrinkles from the forehead go; Exalts the poor, invigorates the weak; Gives mirth and laughter, and a rosy cheek. Bold truths it speaks, and, spoken, dares maintain, And brings our old simplicity again. Love sparkles in the cup, and fills it higher; Wine feeds the flames, and fuel adds to fire. But choose no mistress in thy drunken fit; Wine gilds too much their beauties and their wit. Nor trust thy judgment when the tapers dance; But sober, and by day, thy suit advance. By day-light Paris judged the beauteous three, And for the fairest did the prize decree. Night is a cheat, and all deformities Are hid, or lessened, in her dark disguise. The sun's fair light each error will confess, In face, in shape, in jewels, and in dress. Why name I every place where youths abound? 'Tis loss of time, and a too fruitful ground. The Baian baths, where ships at anchor ride, And wholesome streams from sulphur fountains glide; Where wounded youths are by experience taught, The waters are less healthful than they thought; Or Dian's fane, which near the suburb lies, Where priests, for their promotion, fight a prize. That maiden goddess is Love's mortal foe, And much from her his subjects undergo. Thus far the sportful Muse, with myrtle bound, Has sung where lovely lasses may be found.