Book IV, Ode 12
Reading edition
Yes, a small box of nard from the stores of Sulpicius3 A cask shall elicit, of potency rare To endow with fresh hopes, dewy-bright and delicious, And wash from our hearts every cobweb of care. If you'd dip in such joys, come—the better the quicker!— But remember the fee—for it suits not my ends, To let you make havoc, scot-free, 'with my liquor, As though I were one of your heavy-pursed friends. To the winds with base lucre and pale melancholy!— In the flames of the pyre these, alas! will be vain, Mix your sage ruminations with glimpses of folly,— 'Tis delightful at times to be somewhat insane. —Sir Theodore Martin