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Rh  Think if a little insect's sting Such painful smart to Cupid bring, Oh, what must their keen anguish be Who're wounded to the heart by thee!"

, let the mantling cups be crown'd, And let the jovial song go round. To Bacchus still the strain prolong, Who taught the dance, and loves the song. Companion blithe with Cupid seen, Beloved alike by beauty's queen; The father, he, of joy and mirth, To him the Graces owe their birth. He heals the wounds of pain and grief, In him the wretched find relief. When blooming youths present the bowl Sweet joys alone possess the soul; And, borne aloft, our sorrows fly On swift-wing'd storms that sweep the sky. Then let us anxious thoughts dismiss, And pledge the cup to scenes of bliss; For what avails heart-rending care, Since mortal man is sorrow's heir. How short his life's uncertain date! Unknown and dark his future state. But when the brimming bowl I drain I love to dance along the plain,