A
SONG
.
If
Wine
and
Musick
have
the
Pow'r
,
To
ease
the
Sickness
of
the
Soul
;
Let
Phoebus
ev'ry
String
explore
;
And
Bacchus
fill
the
sprightly
Bowl
.
Let
Them
their
friendly
Aid
imploy
,
To
make
my
Cloe's
Absence
light
;
And
seek
for
Pleasure
,
to
destroy
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
Fav'rite
Nymph
in
State
.
Kind
Goddess
,
to
no
other
Pow'rs
Let
Us
to
Morrow's
Blessings
own
:
Thy
darling
Loves
shall
guide
the
Hours
;
And
all
the
Day
be
Thine
alone
.