The Fly
(An Anacreontick)
Busy, curious, thirsy Fly,
Gently drink, and drink as I;
Freely welcome to my Cup,
Could’st thou sip, and sip it up;
Make the most of Life you may,
Life is short and wears away.
Just alike, both mine and thine,
Hasten quick to their Decline;
Thine’s a Summer, mine’s no more,
Though repeated to threescore;
Threescore Summers when they’re gone,
Will appear as short as one.
William Oldys (1696-1761)
I had to look up the word Anacreontick (also, anacreontic): it’s a short lyrical piece dealing with love and wine. Later, John Phillips decreed that it had to have seven-syllable lines.
Turns out Oldys’s poem meets both tests.