The Widower

Happy the man, who free as air,
By nuptial ties no longer bound,
With dearest wife lays every care
Low under ground.
While he with fops, sips tea with toasts;
Airy, and gay, in his attire;
Whose pride, in age, and winter's frost,
Can yield him fire.
Blest, who can unconcernedly find
Days, hours, and years, glide soft away;
Who jokes, and laughs, with vacant mind,
Though hairs grow grey.
No sleep by night--dancing and drink
Together mixt, sweet recreation!
And making love, which witlings think
Gives reputation.
Thus let me live, thus dance through life,
Thus, unconnected, let me die;
Steal from the world, without a wife
To LAUGH--or CRY!