Anacreon Imitated

Oft the reverend dotards cry, " Why so loving, Daphnis, why? Love 's a thing for age alone: Love 's a God, and you 're too young. Let the harvest crown your brow, And adorn your head with snow; Love may boldly enter then: Years will countenance your flame. Fruits, unripe, disgust the taste; Falling ripe they please us best. Colts are skittish; but the dam (Once a colt) is still and tame."

Reverend dotards, why so wise? Why these reverend fooleries! Who neglects to back the horse, Till his years compute him worse? Generous brutes, that latest die, Early to enjoyment fly: Vigorous nature scorns a tye. Gather'd fruits are best of all; We despise them when they fall. Thus your follies shew to me, What my reverend age shall be. Bring the glass then, bring the fair, Fill it, 'tis a health to her. For experimental I Will a great example be, To convince such reverend fools Of their own mistaken rules.