O'er our merry midnight bowls, O! how happy shall we be; SONG LXX. LET care be a stranger to each jovial soul Who attentive to ease, let his mind still be free ; A friend to mankind, all mankind was his friend, But still, &c. If councils disputed, if councils agreed, He found fault with neither, for this was his creed, That let them be guided by folly or sense, 'Twou'd be semper eadem an hundred years hence ; He thought it unsocial to be malcontent, If the tide went with him, with the tide too he went ; But still, &c. Then let us all follow Aristippus' rules, And deem his opponents both asses and mules ; By the bees of their sect be drove out of their hive; May they never find out the blest art how to please; While our friends and ourselves, not forgetting our wives, By these maxims may live all the days of our lives. SONG LXXI. Written for a convivial Meeting, formed by a Party of select young Friends. YE free-hearted sons of good-humour and mirth! O say, to what sage of convivial worth Shall we tune the gay tribute of juvenile joy? The chorus of praise To him who determin'd to live all his days; Like him let us banish that misanthrope Care, And fetter him down to the root of the vine : There, there let him rot, Unpitied his lot, By the sons of festivity scorn'd and forgot : That our vigils may long in good fellowship glide, O'er the councils of mirth let discretion preside, Shall welcome the hour We duly devote to her favourite bow'r ; Fill, fill then each glass 'till it mantles with fire, 'Tis the juice of the grape that stamps truth on the breast ; So here's to the health of the maid we admire- Was it drank e'en in nectar, 'twould give it a zest. The rosy libations of friendship restore; And thus while we mingle our efforts to please, My mind to me a kingdom is; Such perfect joy therein I find, That God or nature hath assign'd: Content I live, this is my stay; I seek no more than may suffice : I press to bear no haughty sway; Content with that my mind doth bring. H I see how plenty surfeits oft, Mishap doth threaten most of all: No princely pomp, nor wealthy store No wily wit to salve a sore, ; Some have too much, yet still they crave, They poor, I rich; they beg, I give ; I laugh not at another's loss, I grudge not at another's gain; My wealth is health and perfect ease; I never seek by bribes to please, Nor by desert to give offence : Thus do I live, thus will I die ; Would all did so as well as I. |