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Thine's a summer, mine no more,
THE Sages of old,
In prophecy told,
But our new English breed
No prophecies need,
With grumbling and jars,
We promote civil wars,
We snarl, and we bite,
We rail, and we fight
Then him let's commend,
That is true to his friend, And the Church, and the Senate would settle ;
Who delights not in blood,
But draws when he should,
Who rails not at kings,
Nor at politick things,
But takes a full glass,
To his country's success ;
Says Plato, why should man be vain
Since bounteous heaven has made him great? Why look with insolent disdain
On those undecked with wealth or state ?
Can splendid robes or beds of down,
Or costly gems to deck the fair, Can all the glories of a crown
Give health, or ease the brow of care. The sceptred king, the burthen'd slave,
The humble, and the haughty, die :
In dust without distinction lie!
Who once the greatest titles bore, -
And all their honours, are no more !
So glides the meteor through the sky,
And spreads along a gilded train; But when its short-lived beauties die,
Dissolves to common air again; So 'tis with us, my jovial souls !
Let friendship reign while here we stay; Let's crown our joys with flowing bowls, When Jove us calls we must away.
With an honest old friend and a merry old song,
What Cato advises most certainly wise is,
Not always to labour, but sometimes to play,
Indulging at night for the toils of the day :
His bags to increase, while his health does decay, Our souls we enlighten, our fancy we brighten,
And pass the long evenings in pleasure away.
All cheerful and hearty, we set aside party,
With some tender fair the bright bumper is crown'd; Thus Bacchus invites us, and Venus delights us,
While care in an ocean of claret is drown'd.
See here's our physician,—we know no ambition,
But where there's good wine and good company found ; Thus happy together, in spite of all weather, 'Tis sunshine and summer with us all the year round
GOOD OLD THINGS.
In the days of my youth I've been frequently told,
With old England, by some folks, great faults have been
found, Tho' they've since found much greater on New England's
ground, And the thief a new region transportedly hails, Quitting Old England's coast for a trip to New Wales : But such transporting trips, pleased with home, I'd decline, To regale an old friend with a flask of old wine. By the bright golden sun, that gives birth to the day, Tho' as old as the globe which he gilds with his ray, And the moon, which, tho' new, every month, as we're told, Is the same silver lamp near six thousand years oldCould the lamp of my life last while sun and moon shine, I'd regale an old friend with a flask of old wine.
If all be true that I do think,
Dr. Henry Aldrich.
ON BREAKING A CHINA QUART-MUG BE
LONGING TO THE SOCIETY OF LINCOLN
WHENE'ER the cruel hand of death
And Gray immortalised his cat.
How weak is all a mortal's power
Nor can a shape, or beauty save
The master's wish, the bursar's prayer!
Can I forget how oft my quart
Swam mantling round the spicy coast!
The side-board, on that fatal day,
Joe wonder'd what the matter was-
Where are the flowery wreaths that bound
And blossom'd with eternal blue!
Hadst thou been form’d of coarser earth,
Though tables tumbled on the ground. -