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 longDeath will come and mar the song:Then shall Wilson and GotiereNever sing or play more here.