Me thought I saw (as I did dreame in bed) A crawling Vine about Anacreon's head: Flusht was his face; his haires with oyle did shine; And as he spake, his mouth ranne ore with wine. Tipled he was; and tipling lispt withall; And lisping reeld, and reeling like to fall. A young Enchantresse close by him did stand Tapping his plump thighes with a mirtle wand: She smil'd; he kist; and kissing, cull'd her too; And being cup-shot, more he co'd not doe. For which (me thought) in prittie anger she Snatcht off his Crown, and gave the wreath to me: Since when (me thinks) my braines about doe swim, And I am wilde and wanton like to him. |