I COME, let's mind our drinking, Away with this thinking, It ne'er, that I heard of, did any one good; Prevents not disaster, But brings it on faster, Mischance is by mirth and by courage withstood. He ne'er can recover The day that is over, The present is with us and does threaten no ill; He's a fool that will sorrow For the thing call'd to-morrow, But the hour we've in hand we may wield as we will. II There's nothing but Bacchus Right merry can make us, That virtue particular is to the vine; It fires ev'ry creature With wit and good nature, Whose thoughts can be dark when their noses do shine? A night of good drinking Is worth a year's thinking, There's nothing that kills us so surely as sorrow; Then to drown our cares, Boys, Let's drink up the stars, Boys, Each face of the gang will a sun be to-morrow. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOW WE BEAT THE FAVOURITE by ADAM LINDSAY GORDON COWLEY: THE GARDEN by ALEXANDER POPE TO A BLOCKHEAD by ALEXANDER POPE FAST ANCHOR'D ETERNAL O LOVE! by WALT WHITMAN A SOUL'S SOLILOQUY by WENONAH STEVENS ABBOTT THE HOME-COMING by KATHARINE LEE BATES FRAGMENTS INTENDED FOR DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: DIRGE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |