Liber, of all thy friends, thou sweetest care,
Thou worthy in eternal flower to fare,
If thou be'st wise, with Syrian oil let shine
Thy locks, and rosy garlands crown thy head;
Dark thy clear glass with old Falernian wine;
And heat, with softest love, thy softer bed.
He, that but living half his days, dies such,
Makes his life longer than 'twas given him, much.