You, Jove, as punctual to your assignation,
Came here, with Maia to be very happy;
But Juno, out of a fond inclination,
Stept in her room, of all your love to trap ye. Struck by my power, which the slave dared despise,
Bacchus was wounded too by Maia's eyes,
And hither stealing to appease his love,
Thought Juno Maia; she thought Bacchus Jove.
Here rests the matter:-are you all contented?
A lucky disappointment, on my life,
All love is thrown away upon a wife:
How sad! my interruption could not please her. She moves my pity—
Soften, Jove, and ease her.
Juno, thy hand, the girls no more I'll drive at,
I will be ever thine-or wench more private.
Smooth the furrows of thy brow,
Jove is all the lover now:
Others he'll no more pursue,
But be ever fix'd to you.
Then contented I resign
My prerogative of scolding;
Quiet when thy love is mine,
When my arms with thine are folding.
Then, jolly Bacchus, why should we stand out? If we have quarrelled, zounds! we'll drink about.
Love and wine uniting,
Rule without control,
Are to the sense delighting,
And captivate the soul.
Love and wine uniting,
Are everywhere ador'd;
Their pleasures are inviting,
All heav'n they can afford.
Zounds, I agree, 'tis folly to oppose it:
Let's pay our duty here, and then we'll close it.
To you, ye brave, ye fair, ye gay,
Permit me from myself to say—
The juicy grape for you shall rise
In all the colours of the skies;
For you the vine's delicious fruit
Shall on the lofty mountains shoot;
And ev'ry wine to Bacchus dear
Shall sparkle in perfection here.
For you, ye fair, whose heavenly charms
Make all my arrows useless arms,
For shall Handel's lofty flight
Clash on the list'ning ear of night,
And the soft, melting, sinking lay
In gentle accents die away:
And not a whisper shall appear
Which modesty would blush to hear.
Ye brave, the pillars of the state,
In valour and in conduct great,
For you the rushing clang of arms,
The yell of battle and alarms,
Shall from the martial trumpets fly,
And echo through the mantling sky.
From you, ye glories of mankind,
We hope a firm support to find;
All that our humble powers can do
Shall be display'd to pleasure you:
On you we build a wish'd success,
'Tis yours, like deities, to bless;
Your smiles will better every scene,
And clothe our barren waste in green.
So when along the eastern skies
The glories of the morning rise,
The humble flower which slept the night,
Expands its beauties to the light,
Glows in its glossy new array,
And shines amidst the shining day.
And I tell you, Mr. Latitat, it shall not be.-I'll have no Society of Antiquaries meet here. None but the honourable Members of the Coterie shall assemble here--you shall know.
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