To Torquatus Quintus Horatius Flaccus (Ft. John Conington)

To Torquatus

Si Potes Archiacis

If you can lie, Torquatus, when you take
Your meal, upon a couch of Archias' make,
And sup off potherbs, gathered as they come,
You'll join me, please, by sunset at my home.
My wine, not far from Sinuessa grown,
Is but six years in bottle, I must own:
If you've a better vintage, send it here,
Or take your cue from him who finds the cheer.
My hearth is swept, my household looks its best,
And all my furniture expects a guest.
Forego your dreams of riches and applause,
Forget e'en Moschus' memorable cause;
To-morrow's Caesar's birthday, which we keep
By taking, to begin with, extra sleep;
So, if with pleasant converse we prolong
This summer night, we scarcely shall do wrong.

Why should the Gods have put me at my ease,
If I mayn't use my fortune as I please?
The man who stints and pinches for his heir
Is next-door neighbour to a fool, I'll swear.
Here, give me flowers to strew, my goblet fill,
And let men call me mad-cap if they will.
O, drink is mighty! secrets it unlocks,
Turns hope to fact, sets cowards on to box,
Takes burdens from the careworn, finds out parts
In stupid folks, and teaches unknown arts.
What tongue hangs fire when quickened by the bowl?
What wretch so poor but wine expands his soul?