_Ode Xxvi._

Away, away, you men of rules, What have I to do with schools? They'd make me learn, they'd make me think, But would they make me love and drink? Teach me this; and let me swim My soul upon the goblet's brim; Teach me this, and let me twine My arms around the nymph divine! Age begins to blanch my brow, I've time for nought but pleasure now. Fly, and cool my goblet's glow At yonder fountain's gelid flow; I'll quaff, my boy, and calmly sink

This soul to slumber as I drink! Soon, too soon, my jocund slave, You'll deck your master's grassy grave; And there's an end--for ah! you know They drink but little wine below!