Quotes from Anacreon

Cursed be he above all others Who's enslaved by love of money. Money takes the place of brothers, Money takes the place of parents, Money brings us war and slaughter.

For when we quaff the gen'rous bowl, Then sleep the sorrows of our soul. Let us drink the juice divine, The gift of Bacchus, god of wine. When I take wine, my cares go to rest.

I both love and do not love; am mad and not mad.

My Passion uncontrolled shall rove, Doubly debauched with Wine and Love.

Wing'd with a Drunken Excellence.

Venus, queen of soft desire, Leading Hymen's happy choir.

When an old man dances, His locks with age are grey. But he's a child in mind.

To-day belongs to me, To-morrow who can tell.

But since We Mortals vainly try To purchase Immortality, It is as vain to Sigh and Grieve, And fearing Death, neglect to Live.

Ah, cruel 'tis to love, And cruel not to love, But cruelest of all To love and love in vain.

I'll curse all dull Sobriety, Fill'd with Wine's delicious Charms, Fill'd with a Mistress in my Arms.

Oft am I by the Women told, Poor Anacreon, thou grow'st old, Look how thy hairs are falling all; Poor Anacreon how they fall. Whether I grow old or no, By th' Effects I do not know. This I know without being told, 'Tis time to Live, if I grow Old. 'Tis time short Pleasures now to take; Of little Life the best to make, And manage wisely the last Stake.

Let others seek renown in arms; For me wine's wars have greater charms: Then fill the bowl, boy; fill it high: 'Tis better drunk, than dead to lie.

All are stoics in the grave.

Thus, while I quaff the genial wine, I live mid transports quite divine.

Horns to bulls wise Nature lends; Horses she with hoofs defends; Hares with nimble feet relieves; Dreadful teeth to lions gives; Fishes learn through streams to slide; Birds through yielding air to glide; Men with courage she supplies; But to women these denies. What then gives she? Beauty, this Both their arms and armour is: She, that can this weapon use, Fire and sword with ease subdues.

Who his cups can stoutly bear, In his cups despiseth fear, In his cups can nimbly dance, Him Lyaeus will advance: Nectar of us mortals wine, The glad offspring of the vine, Screen'd with leaves, preserv'd within The plump grape's transparent skin, In the body all diseases, In the soul all grief appeases.

But O! my heart, what shade can prove Thy guard against this heat of Love?

Today is ours; what do we fear? Today is ours: we have it here. Let's treat it kindly, that it may Wish at least with us to stay.

The fertile earth imbibes the rain; The trees her moisture drink again; The swelling ocean drinks the gales, From him the thirsty sun exhales: The moon, as thirsty, copious streams Insatiate drinks of solar beams. In drinking, then, since all agree, What friend can justly censure me?

Why do we precious ointments shower, Nobler wines why do we pour, Beauteous flowers why do we spread, Upon the monuments of the dead? Nothing they but dust can show, Or bones that hasten to be so.

Great Bacchus every trouble cures; Then drink as long as life endures. For, whilst we drain the rosy bowl, 'Tis all a sunshine of the soul!

And last of all comes death.

Pretty Rose, thou gaudy flower, Sacred to Love's almighty power, Whence there's no Lover ever seeks, But finds Thee in his Mistress' cheeks.