Tipsy dance and jollity.
Braid your locks [with rosy twine], 105
Dropping odors, dropping wine.
Rigor now is gone to bed;
And [Advice] with scrupulous head,
[Strict Age, and sour Severity],
With [their grave saws], in slumber lie. 110
We, that are of purer fire,
Imitate the starry quire,
Who, in their nightly watchful spheres,