A Lyric to Mirth

While the milder fates consent,

Let's enjoy our merriment :

Drink, and dance, and pipe, and play ;

Kiss our dollies night and day :

Crowned with clusters of the vine,

Let us sit, and quaff our wine.

Call on Bacchus, chant his praise ;

Shake the thyrse, and bite the bays :

Rouse Anacreon from the dead,

And return him drunk to bed :

Sing o'er Horace, for ere long

Death will come and mar the song :

Then shall Wilson and Gotiere

Never sing or play more here.