The large Nose and long one, thereby hangs a Tale, Ex noscitur Naso-but Proverbs may fail, The boys of Conceit blushing Merit deride, I challenge the sons and the daughters of Pride Prometheus, 'tis said, form'd our Animal Clay, I fear that some 'Prentice, when he was away, I presume, but perhaps, 'tis presumption to say, I even presume to suppose, I shou'd set myself up in the Song-singing Way, When I ought to set down with my Nose. My Song therefore ends, now a Toast, with your leave May Wisdom our Councils compose, May Britons be Friends, and forget and forgive, SERIOSITY. TUNE. "This cold flinty Heart it is you who have warm'd." HITE Winter has left us, with all its chill WHIT train, And fruitful Spring puts forth its buds o'er the plain; Let us take example, and merrily sing, With Daisies, with King-cups, the meadows are crown'd, But Blossoms from Bacchus our Verdure surround; 'Tis Life-and such Life too, which only Bucks know, As for Death, we can talk about him when we go. When coffin'd, no matter to us all the fun, The smart things we've said, or the droll things we've done ; Future Fame's all a joke-I'm for Life's present treat, What's to come may be queer, for To-morrow's a cheat. 'Tis certain that, one by one, all must resign As we ought, we reflect on Life's pleasure and pain, We have liv'd, drank, and lov'd, we'll repeat them i again, While Desires depend on Ability's aid But Faculty's failing,-here Sexton your spade. I have acted from Instinct, I've liv'd upon Whim, As to Prudence-I can't say I e'er drank with him; With the Sun tho' I've drove round the Bottle in Tune, And have labour'd all Night with Queen Midwife the Moon. As to Sins,-why, Repentance will shorten our score, The lowest have Hopes, and the highest no more; Here's to those who, like us, Affectations defy, Not Spendthrifts of life, nor like Misers wou'd dye : When call'd on to pay, calmly cast up expence, And drink their last Toast-A good Journey from hence. LEEP, thou leaden, lazy God, What's thy Balm for Sorrow's Wound? What thy restorative Rod, Can it render Wretches sound? Not thy Wand,-no, no! 'tis Wine, Wine can all Distress defy; Ecce Signum, here's the sign, Don't believe me, drink and try. Let the restless Sleep invoke, What we shall be !-who can tell? When my Face deep wrinkles seize, Then repining, then I'll say, Who, will trust to-morrow may; Day by day, and night by night, Tell me, have we time to sleep? And the means that Time t' improve ; Let the Glass and Lass be kiss'd, Is High Treason to Love's Queen. |