 | Songs, comic and satyrical |  |
SLEEP.
Sleep, thou leaden, lazy God,
What's thy balm for Sorrow's wound?
What thy restorative rod,
Can it render wretches sound?
Not thy wand,—no, no; 'tis wine,
Wine can all distress defy;
Ecce Signum, here's the sign,
Don't believe me, drink and try.
What's thy balm for Sorrow's wound?
What thy restorative rod,
Can it render wretches sound?
Not thy wand,—no, no; 'tis wine,
Wine can all distress defy;
Ecce Signum, here's the sign,
Don't believe me, drink and try.
Let the restless Sleep invoke,
Sleep which cicatrizes Care;
Let—but, I say, Sleep's a joke,
Wine's the dose against Despair:
What we have been?—why, farewell!
What we might be!—we'll not think.—
What we shall be!—who can tell?
Here we are, and here we'll drink.
Sleep which cicatrizes Care;
Let—but, I say, Sleep's a joke,
Wine's the dose against Despair:
What we have been?—why, farewell!
What we might be!—we'll not think.—
What we shall be!—who can tell?
Here we are, and here we'll drink.
134
When my face deep wrinkles seize,
And my head with palsy shakes;
When the gout benumbs the knees,
And the voice, once manly, breaks;
When the sunken cheek shews pale,
And the hollow eyes blear dim;
When the ear and mem'ry fail,
And unnerv'd each wither'd limb.
And my head with palsy shakes;
When the gout benumbs the knees,
And the voice, once manly, breaks;
When the sunken cheek shews pale,
And the hollow eyes blear dim;
When the ear and mem'ry fail,
And unnerv'd each wither'd limb.
Then repining, then I'll say,
Life, alas! is all a cheat!
When I've nothing left to pay,
Envious, then, abuse the treat:
Soon or late, but late's too soon,
Who will trust to-morrow may;
Thinking puts one out of tune,
Let us drink, my lads, to-day.
Life, alas! is all a cheat!
When I've nothing left to pay,
Envious, then, abuse the treat:
Soon or late, but late's too soon,
Who will trust to-morrow may;
Thinking puts one out of tune,
Let us drink, my lads, to-day.
Day by day, and night by night,
Joyful jubelees we keep;
Life we measure by delight,
Tell me,—have we time to sleep?
Present time is in our power,
And the means that time t'improve;
Taste it, 'tis Enjoyment's hour,
Pledge me, lads, in Wine and Love.
Joyful jubelees we keep;
Life we measure by delight,
Tell me,—have we time to sleep?
Present time is in our power,
And the means that time t'improve;
Taste it, 'tis Enjoyment's hour,
Pledge me, lads, in Wine and Love.
Let the glass and lass be kiss'd,
Let not coyness chill the scene;
To excuse, or to resist,
Is high treason to Love's Queen.
Pouting lips, and panting breasts,
Pressing, mingling, murm'ring join;
Wine inspiring Beauty's guests,
Pledge me, lads, 'tis Love and Wine.
Let not coyness chill the scene;
To excuse, or to resist,
Is high treason to Love's Queen.
Pouting lips, and panting breasts,
Pressing, mingling, murm'ring join;
Wine inspiring Beauty's guests,
Pledge me, lads, 'tis Love and Wine.
| Songs, comic and satyrical | |