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"While the milder Fates consent,
Let’s enjoy our merryment:
Drink, and dance, and pipe, and play;
Kisse our Dollies night and day:
Crown’d with clusters of the Vine;
Let us sit, and quaffe our wine.
Call on Bacchus; chaunt his praise;
Shake the Thyrse, and bite the Bayes:
Rouze Anacreon from the dead;
And return him drunk to bed ... "

from 'A Lyrick to Mirth', by Robert Herrick