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Rh  When Hercules went mad of yore, The Iphitean bow he bore; His rattling quiver's dreadful sound Spread awe and consternation round. Great Ajax, too, when madness raged, Whole hosts of fancied Greeks engaged; When, grasping fierce his seven-fold shield, With Hector's sword he sought the field. But though with wine I mad should be, May no such fury seize on me! No dreadful bow or sword I bear, A flowery garland decks my hair. This brimming bowl shall crown my bliss, Then welcome madness such as this!

thou canst number o'er to me Every leaf on every tree, Or count the ceaseless waves that roar Against the billow-beaten shore, Thou sufficient skill hast proved; Thou shalt count the names I've loved. At Athens first, Minerva's town, Full five-and-thirty write me down; But oh! at Corinth, rich and fair, What hosts of loved ones had I there!