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Rh She marks you down, fly where you will, Over clover, grass, or stubble— Can wing you, feather you, or kill, Just as she takes the trouble. Ah, men, &c.

Then fly not from us, ’tis in vain, We know the art of setting; As well as fighting, we can train The shyest man our net in. Ah, men, &c.

Let’s drink, my friends, while here we live, The fleeting moments, as they pass, This silent admonition give— To improve our time, and push the glass.

When once we’ve entered Charon’s boat. Farewell to drinking, joys divine! There’s not a drop to wet our throat. The grave’s a cellar void of wine.

Then farewell my donkey Neddy, Scales and panniers all good bye; Never more you’ll hear old Teddy, Through the streets ‘Salt cod, O!’ cry.