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Carl Peterson
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The Anacreonic Song
To Anacreon in Heav'n, where he sat in full Glee,
A few Sons of Harmony sent a Petition,
That he their Inspirer and Patron would be;
When this answer arriv'd from the Jolly Old Grecian
'Voice, Fiddle, and Flute,
'no longer be mute,
'I'll lend you my Name and inspire you to boot,
'And, besides I'll instruct you, like me, to intwine
'The Myrtle of Venus with Bacchus's Vine.'
The news through Olympus immediately flew;
When Old Thunder pretended to give himself Airs.
'If these Mortals are suffer'd their Scheme to persue,
'The Devil a Goddess will stay above Stairs.
'Hark! already they cry,
'In transports of Joy,
'Away to the Sons of Anacreon we'll fly,
'And there, with good Fellows, we'll learn to intwine
'The Myrtle of Venus with Bacchus's Vine.
'The Yellow-Hair'd God and his nine fusty Maids,
'From Helicon's banks will incontinent flee,
'Idalia will boast but of tenantless Shades,
'And the bi-forked Hill a mere Desart will be
'My Thunder no fear on't,
'Shall soon do it's Errand,
'And dam'me! I'll swinge the Ringleaders, I warrant.
'I'll trim the young Dogs, for thus daring to twine
'The Myrtle of Venus with Bacchus's Vine.'
Apollo rose up, and said, 'Pry'thee ne'er quarrel,
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'Good King of the Gods, with my Vot'ries below:
'Your Thunder is useless' — then shewing his Laurel,
Cry'd 'Sic evitabile fulmen, you know!
'Then over each head
'My Laurels I'll spread;
'So my Sons from your Crackers no Mischief shall dread,
'Whilst snug in their Club-Room, they jovially twine
'The Myrtle of Venus with Bacchus's Vine.'
Next Momus got up with his risible Phiz,
And swore with Apollo he'd chearfully join —
'The full Tide of Harmony still shall be his,
'But the Song, and the Catch, and the Laugh shall be mine.
'Then, Jove, be not jealous
'Of these honest fellows.'
Cry'd Jove, 'We relent, since the Truth you now tell us;
'And swear by Old Styx, that they long shall intwine
'The Myrtle of Venus with Bacchus's Vine.'
Ye Sons of Anacreon, then join Hand in Hand;
Preserve Unanimity, Friendship, and Love!
'Tis your's to support what's so happily plann'd;
You've the sanction of Gods, and the Fiat of Jove.
While thus we agree,
Our Toast let it be.
May our Club flourish happy, united, and free!
And long may the Sons of Anacreon intwine
The Myrtle of Venus with Bacchus's Vine.
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