The Bowl

[p. 64] The Lion mounts, and with his last the BowlStudded with Stars comes up, and cheers the Pole:And then who e're are born, their Minds inclineTo water Meadows, and to dress the Vine.To Hills, Lakes, Rivers: To what e're produceThe generous Liquor, and improve the Juice:Now Bridegroom Elms they shall in order place,And bring the blushing Brides to their embrace;Entwine their Boughs: Or when the Stock's display'dWithout support, nor needs a Foreign Aid,In Branches lead it; and uncurious grownTrust reeling Bacchus to himself alone.Or from the Stock, the hopeful Tendrils tear,Plant them anew, and teach the Twigs to bear.Use all improving ways that Art hath sought,By long Experience, or wise Nature taught:

When ripe their Bowls the generous Wine shall Crown,Soften their Cares, and all their Wishes drown;They largely shall enjoy their Fruits, nor spareThe pleasing Recompences of their Care:Happy this State; but Stars still force them on,And urge their greedy Minds to be undone:For Corn, and Foreign Stores which moisture yields,They'll Plow the Ocean, and forsake their FieldsTill tost by Storms, they midst the Waves resignTheir baffled Hopes: And thus the Bowl inclines;