The Vision.

Methought I saw, as I did dream in bed, A crawling vine about Anacreon's head. Flushed was his face; his hairs with oil did shine; And, as he spake, his mouth ran o'er with wine. Tippled he was, and tippling lisped withal; And lisping reeled, and reeling like to fall. A young enchantress close by him did stand, Tapping his plump thighs with a myrtle wand: She smil'd; he kiss'd; and kissing, cull'd her too, And being cup-shot, more he could not do. For which, methought, in pretty anger she Snatched off his crown, and gave the wreath to me; Since when, methinks, my brains about do swim, And I am wild and wanton like to him.