Had the bad me read homilies three times a day,
She perhaps had been humour'd with little to fay;
But, at night, to deny me my bottle of red,
Let her go to the devil!- there's no more to be faid.
BY MR. HENRY CAREY.
TH an honeft old friend, and a merry old fong, And a flafk of old port, let me fit the night long; And laugh at the malice of thofe who repine, That they muft fwig porter, while I can drink wine.
I envy no mortal, though ever fo great,
Nor fcorn I a wretch for his lowly eftate;
But what I abhor, and efteem as a curfe,
Is poorness of spirit, not poornefs in purse.
Then dare to be generous, dauntlefs, and gay,
Let's merrily pafs lifes remainder away;
Upheld by our friends, we our fees may defpife,
For the more we are envied, the higher we rife.
A chafte, yet laughter-loving lafs,
To mortals various joys impart,
Inform the fenfe, and warm the heart.
Thrice happy they who, carelefs, laid
Beneath a kind-embowering fhade,
With rofy wreaths their temples crown,
In rofy wine their forrows drown.
Mean while the Mufes wake the lyre,
The Graces modeft mirth infpire,
Good-natur'd humour, harmless wit;
Well-temper'd joys, nor grave, nor light.
Let facred Venus with her heir,
And dear Ian the too be there.
Mufic and wine in concert move
With beauty and refining love.
There Peace fhall fpread her dove-like wing,
And bid her olives round us fpring.
There Truth fhall reign, a facred gucft!
And Innocence, to crown the reft.
Begone, ambition, riches, toys,
And fplendid cares, and guilty joys:-
Give me a book, a friend, a glafs,
And a chafte laughter-loving lafs.
PLATOS ADVICE. *
SAYS Plato, why fhould man be vain,
Since bounteous heav'n hath made him great
Why look with infolent difdain
On those undeck'd with wealth or ftate?
Can fplendid robes, or beds of down,
Or coftly gems that deck the fair,
Can all the glories of a crown
Give health, or cafe the brow of care?
The fcepter'd king, the burthen'd flave,
The humble, and the haughty die;
The rich, the poor, the bafe, the brave,
In duft, without diftinction, lie.
Go fearch the tombs where monarchs reft,
Who once the greatest titles bore ;
The wealth and glory they poffefs'd,
And all their honours are no more.
So glides the meteor through the fky,
And spreads along a gilded train,
But, when its fhort-liv'd beauties die,
Diffolves to common air again.
So 'tis with us, my jovial fouls:-
Let friendship reign while here we ftay;
Let's crown our joys with flowing bowls;-
When Jove us calls we must obey.
An alteration of a poem, written by the rev. mr. Mathew (husband of the celebrated Letitia) Pilkington, beginning,
"why, Lycidas, fhould man be vain."
IVE me but a friend and a glass, boys,
I'll show ye what 'tis to be gay,
I'll not care a fig for a lass, boys,
Nor love my brisk youth away:
Give me but an honeft fellow,
That's pleaíanteft when he is mellow,
We'll live twenty-four hours a day.
'Tis woman in chains does bind, boys,
But 'tis wine that makes us free;
'Tis woman that makes us blind, boys,
But wine makes us doubly fee.
The female is true to no man,
Deceit is inherent to woman,
But none in a brimmer can be.
ID me, when forty winters more,
Have furrow'd deep my pallid brow;
When from my head, a fcanty ftore,
Lankly the wither'd treffes flow;
When the warm tide, that bold and ftrong
Now rolls impetuous on and free,
Languid and flow scarce fteals along ;
Then bid me court fobriety.
Nature, who form'd the varied scene
Of rage and calm, of froft and fire,
Unerring guide, could only mean
That age fhould reafon, youth defire;
Shall then that rebel man prefume
(Inverting natures law) to feize
The dues of age in youths high, bloom,
And join impoffibilities?
No-let me wafte the frolic May
In wanton joys and wild excess,
In revel fport, and laughter gay,
And mirth, and rofy chearfulness.
Woman, the foul of all delights,
And wine, the aid of love, be near:
All charms me that to joy incites,
And ev'ry the that's kind, is fair.
Dance and fing,
Time's on the wing,
Life never knows the return of spring.
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