If wine and music have the
To ease the sickness of the soul,
Let Phoebis every string explore,
And Bacchus fill the sprightly bowl:
Let them their friendly aid
To make my Cloe's absense light,
And seek for pleasure to
The sorrows of this live-long night.
But she to-morrow will return:
Venus, be thou to-morrow great;
Thy myrtles strow, thy odours burn,
And meet thy favourite nymph in state,
Kind goddess, to no other
Let us to-morrow's blessings own,
Thy darling Loves shall guide the hours,
And all the day be thine alone.
