To Quintus Hirpinus

To Scythian and Cantabrian plots, Pay them no heed, O Quintius! So long as we From care are free, Vexations cannot cinch us. Unwrinkled youth and grace, forsooth, Speed hand in hand together; The songs we sing In time of spring Are hushed in wintry weather. Why, even flow'rs change with the hours, And the moon has divers phases; And shall the mind Be racked to find A clew to Fortune's mazes? Nay; 'neath this tree let you and me Woo Bacchus to caress us; We're old, 't is true, But still we two Are thoroughbreds, God bless us! While the wine gets cool in yonder pool, Let's spruce up nice and tidy; Who knows, old boy, But we may decoy The fair but furtive Lyde? She can execute on her ivory lute Sonatas full of passion, And she bangs her hair (Which is passing fair) In the good old Spartan fashion.