Well skill'd to bend the Serian bowHis father carried? Who shall sayThat rivers may not uphill flow,And Tiber's self return one day,If you would change Panaetius' works,That costly purchase, and the clanOf Socrates, for shields and dirks,Whom once we thought a saner man?Come, Cnidian, Paphian Venus, come,Thy well-beloved Cyprus spurn,Haste, where for thee in Glycera's homeSweet odours burn.Bring too thy Cupid, glowing warm,Graces and Nymphs, unzoned and free,And Youth, that lacking thee lacks charm,And Mercury.What blessing shall the bard entreatThe god he hallows, as he poursThe winecup? Not the mounds of wheatThat load Sardinian threshing floors;