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HE man who frets at worldly strife,
 * Grows sallow, sour, and thin;

Give us the lad whose happy life
 * Is one perpetual grin;

He, Midas-like, turns all to gold,
 * He smiles when others sigh,

Enjoys alike the hot and cold,
 * And laughs through wet and dry.

There’s fun in every thing we meet,
 * The greatest, worst, and best,

Existence is a merry treat,
 * And every speech a jest:

Be’t ours to watch the crowds that pass
 * Where Mirth’s gay banner waves;

To show fools through a quizzing-glass,
 * And bastinade the knaves.