Here shall you quaff beneath the shadeSweet Lesbian draughts that injure none,Nor fear lest Mars the realm invadeOf Semele's Thyonian son,Lest Cyrus on a foe too weakLay the rude hand of wild excess,His passion on your chaplet wreak,Or spoil your undeserving dress.

Varus, are your trees in planting? put in none before the vine,In the rich domain of Tibur, by the walls of Catilus;There's a power above that hampers all that sober brains design,And the troubles man is heir to thus are quell'd, and only thus.Who can talk of want or warfare when the wine is in his head,Not of thee, good father Bacchus, and of Venus fair and bright?But should any dream of licence, there's a lesson may be read,How 'twas wine that drove the Centaurs with the Lapithae to fight.And the Thracians too may warn us; truth and falsehood, good and ill,How they mix them, when the wine-god's hand is heavy on them laid!Never, never, gracious Bacchus, may I move thee 'gainst thy will,Or uncover what is hidden in the verdure of thy shade!