May lovers of Claret, aye, Claret's the thing,
To drink it without any tax;

I don't mind the bother 'bout Subject and King,
But custom-free that's all I ax.

If Clergy, and Commons, and Lords will but join,
Our national debts to pay off,

And let us free Gratis have women and wine,
Why then we may do well enough.

In half-pints the Parl'ament house then I'll toast,
And GEORGE too, upon my bare knee;

I don't care which side, nor if none rule the toast,
So I've but my fun and am free.

But now they're sad times, for our freedom is gone, Since we to bumbailiffs submit ;

Bill o' Rights I damn all bills, for the nation's undone By that General Warrant, a Writ.

We must be made slaves if they don't put a stop
To Lawyers, the Justice, and all;

For if in Old England we don't keep it up,
Why then, to be sure, it must fall.

When I dye-but that's queer-and to think on't is dull,

So as to this here, or that there,

Let me go where I will, if my bottle is full,
And I get but a girl, I don't care.

If Master Death thrusts himself into my room,
They tell me, he always makes free,
I'll try if I can't tip old Boney a hum,
If not, why, may-hap he hums me.

As I told you before, I'm resolv'd not to think,
So I cannot a Sentiment give,

However, my Souls, while we live let us drink,
Because while we're drinking we live,

My brave boys.

TO-DAY AND TO-NIGHT.

TUNE.

"What a Blockhead is he who's afraid to die poor..'

UBY-FINGER'D Aurora, fair Lady of Light,
From saffron robes shaking the last shade of
Night,

Call'd Phabus, who bless'd with his sea-beauty's boon,
Slow awoke, Thetis vow'd 'Twas immensely too soon.

Above the horizon his beams, circling, spread
The grey dappled clouds, fring'd transparent with red.
The breezy air rich with the perfumes of May,
While birds on the boughs chirp'd and sung in the day.

Shall man, most oblig'd, offer less to that pow'r
By whom he's endow'd, to enjoy ev'ry hour?
Yes,-pride-born Ingratitude never will pay
The thanks which are due for the gift of To-day.

No,-To-morrow's the thing; To-morrow! Sloth

cries

To-morrow's the shadow which ev'ry day flies. Death Yesterday call'd in his fools-and, To-day, 'Tis not six to four but we're had the same way.

We must laugh when we look on Time-killers' distress,

Who dress, dine, and daudle-dine, daudle, and dress. In one senseless saunter dream Day and Night thro', In nothing to say, and-in nothing to do.

As for thinking To-day, 'tis absurd to begin:
A head fine frizzur'd wants no finish within.
To-morrow's the wild-goose at which they take aim,
A mouthful of moonshine they get for their game.

Let us, lads, depend on Life's plain-dealing plan,
Not kill Time, but keep all alive while we can.
Day and Night too, our welcome to Beauty we'll pay,
Love equal expects both good Night and good Day.

To Night be my song then, I honour its shades; Fall fertile ye vapours, make Mothers of Maids. To the end of each Day be our doings upright, May all do the best thing they can do To-night.

TO DRINK.

TUNE" GUILDFORD STILE."

THEN Prudence declaims how time passes,

WHEN
Wou'd we tempt Mr. Chronos to stay,

While we're bump'ring a round of our lasses,
We wou'd wait upon all he cou'd say.
But is it worth while
Through books to toil,

In troubling our heads how to think?
Thought ne'er was design'd
To puzzle the mind,

Let us only mind how we drink.

There was Solomon one of the wise things
When past it, began to complain:
He affected at last to despise things
Because his was labour in vain ;
But used to say,
There's time to play,

To labour, to love, and to think;
Let those in their prime
Remember the time

At present 'tis time we shou'd drink.

A pox on Reflection, be jolly,
Dispassionate Cynics Despise,

Did you once know the raptures of folly,
You never wou'd wish to be wise.
I scorn the plans
Sobriety scans

From bumpers I never will shrink;
By the busy in trade

Be Cent. per Cent. made,
'Tis Cent. per Cent. better to drink.

KISSING.

TUNE.

"In pursuit of some Lambs from my Flocks that had stray'd."

YE That happiness here

E delicate lovelies, with leave, I maintain
That happiness here you may find.

To yourselves I appeal for Felicity's reign
When you meet with a man to your mind.

When Gratitude Friendship to Fondness unites, Inexpressive endearments arise:

Then hopes, fears, and fancies, strange doubts, and delights

Are announce by those tell-tales, the eyes.

Those technical terms, in the science of Love,
Cold schoolmen attempt to describe,

But how should they paint what they never can prove?
For Tenderness knows not their tribe.

Of all the abuse on enjoyment that's thrown
The treatment Love takes most amiss,

Is the rant of the coxcomb, the sot, and the clown,
Who pretend to indulge on a Kiss.

The love of a fribble at self only aims:

For sots and clowns-class them with beasts No fibre, no atom, have they in their frames, To relish such delicate feasts.

In circling embraces, when lips to lips move,
Description, oh! teach me to praise

The overture KISS to th' Op'ra of Love-
But Beauty wou'd laugh at the phrase.

Love's preludes are Kisses, and, after the play,
They fill up the pause of delight.
The rich repetitions, which never decay,
The Lips silent language at night..

The raptures of KISSING we only can taste,
When sympathies equal inspire:

And while to enjoyment unbounded, we haste,
Their breath blows the coals of desire.