O, oft with me in troublous timeInvolved, when Brutus warr'd in Greece,Who gives you back to your own climeAnd your own gods, a man of peace,Pompey, the earliest friend I knew,With whom I oft cut short the hoursWith wine, my hair bright bathed in dewOf Syrian oils, and wreathed with flowers?With you I shared Philippi's rout,Unseemly parted from my shield,When Valour fell, and warriors stoutWere tumbled on the inglorious field:But I was saved by Mercury,Wrapp'd in thick mist, yet trembling sore,While you to that tempestuous seaWere swept by battle's tide once more.Come, pay to Jove the feast you owe;Lay down those limbs, with warfare spent,Beneath my laurel; nor be slowTo drain my cask; for you 'twas meant.