Let's be merry with jest and song,
Time as he swiftly flies, my boys,
Will not a second our bliss prolong,
But with his scythe mow down our joys;

Then seize him by the forelock, Mirth,
Pleasure drown him in the bowl—
We'll be happy while on earth,
We'll toast each laughter-loving soul.
O the delights which wine can give,
It every gen'rous bosom fires,
Can make the sad again to live,
And adds to Venus' fond desires.
Sly Cupid sips the potent draft,
The little urchin drinks to love,
While mortals of the heavy heart,
Own it celestial from above.
Sorrow but comes too soon my boys,
Fill your glass to each beauty bright,
Talk not to us of flames or darts,
We'll drink all day, and love all night.
Care,—be thou banish'd from our board,
Momus,—assist with all thy crew:
Come,—Humour,—ape thy merry board.
And—Wit,—assist thy chosen few.