Page:Collection of songs &c. (1).pdf/6

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Come, come, from the bottle ne’er sever, But up with our glasses, up, up! You’ll find, if you live, boys, for ever, Your only true friend is the cup. Come, gather round hearts that are broken By friendship, by love, or by care. Yon bright beaming bumper gives token A cure for their sorrow is there. So come, from the bottle ne’er sever, &c.

Oh! love’s a disease and a trouble, No more shal’t my feelings involve, And friendship I know is a bubble, A few dirty pounds can dissolve. But here in this goblet before me, No deceit, no reproaches I find; And its pangs, if too freely shed o’er me, Thank heaven are not of the mind. So come, from the bottle ne’er sever, &c

The fervour of Bacchus ne’er varies, Immutably firm to the last, Ney in death e’en his virtue still tarries, And is felt though his spirit has pass’d; For if, while his praise we are singing, We drain the old soul till he dies, On his ribs still an odour is clinging, To waft us with him to the skies. So come, from the bottle ne’er sever, &c