Chapter XXVI: Book III: ODE XXI. To his Wine-Vessels

Kind Brother Butt! as old, and brisk, as I
(For we had both the same nativity),
Whether to mirth, to brawls, or desperate love,
Or sleep, thy gentle power does move;
By what, or name, or title dignifi'd;
Thou need'st not fear the nicest test to 'bide:
Corvinus' health since we may not refuse,
Give down amain thy generous juice.
Corvinus, tho' a Stoic, will not balk
Thy charms, for he can drink, as well as talk. 10
Old Cato, tho' he often were morose,
Yet he would sometimes take a dose.
O Wine! thou mak'st the thick-skull'd fellow soft;
Easest the Statesman, vex'd with cares full oft;
Unriddlest all intrigues with a free bowl,
Thou arrant pick-lock of the Soul!
Thou dost our gasping, dying hopes revive;
To peasants, souls as big as princes' give;
Inspired by thee they scorn their slavish fears,
And bid their rulers shake their ears. 20
All this, and more (great Bacchus) thou canst do,
But if kind Venus be assistant too,
Then bring more candles to expel the night,
Till Phoebus puts the stars to flight.

BOOK III. ODE XXII. _Upon Diana._

Gentle Diana, Goddess bright,
Who midwiv'st infants into light,
The mountain's Deity tripartite,
And Queen of Night,
To thee I consecrate my Pine,
Henceforth it shall be ever thine,
Yearly I'll offer at this shrine
The blood of swine.