She weans men's lips; for him she keepsThe crown, the purple, and the bays,Who dares to look on treasure-heapsWith unblench'd gaze.

An equal mind, when storms o'ercloud,Maintain, nor 'neath a brighter skyLet pleasure make your heart too proud,O Dellius, Dellius! sure te die,Whether in gloom you spend each year,Or through long holydays at easeIn grassy nook your spirit cheerWith old Falernian vintages,Where poplar pale, and pine-tree highTheir hospitable shadows spreadEntwined, and panting waters tryTo hurry down their zigzag bed.Bring wine and scents, and roses' bloom,Too brief, alas! to that sweet place;While life, and fortune, and the loomOf the Three Sisters yield you grace.