An Anacreontic

Fill, fill tine merry bowl,
Drown corrosive care and sorrow;
Why, why clog the soul,
By caring for to-morrow?
Fill your glasses, toast your lasses,
Blythe Anacreon bids your live,
Love, with friendship, far surpasses
All the pleasures life can give.
Ring, ring th' enlivening bell,
The merry dirge of care and sorrow;
Why leave them life to tell
Their heavy tales to-morrow?

Come join the social glee,
Give the reins to festive pleasure,
While fancy, light, and free,
Dances to the measure:
Love and wit, with all the graces,
Revel round in fairy ring;
Smiling joy adorns our faces,
While with jocund hearts we sing.
Now, since our cares are drown'd,
Spite of what the sages tell us,
Hoary Time, in all his round,
Ne'er saw such happy fellows.