Page:Pocock's Everlasting Songster.djvu/38

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Go, fearch the tombs where monarchs reft,

Who once the greateft titles wore, Of wealth and glory they're bereft,

And all their honours ai e no more.

% So flies the meteor thro' the flues.

And fpreads along a gilded train, When mot r tis gone its beauty dies

DifTolves to common air again. So 'tis with us my jovial fouls ;

Let friendfhip reign, while here we flay, Let's crown our joy with flowing bowls,

When Jove commands we muft obey.

��THE FRIEND AND PITCHER.

TTT^HE wealthy fool, with gold in flore, -1 Will ftill delire to grow richer, Give me but theie, I afk no more,

jMy charming girl, my friend and pitcher. My friend fo rare, my girl fo fair, ^

With fuch, what mortal can be richer ? Give me but thefe, a fig for care,

With my fweet girl, my friend, and pitcher.

Ftom morning fun I'd never grieve,

To toil '*. hedger or a ditcher, If that when I come home at eve,

I might enjoy my friend and pitcher.

My friend fo rare, &c,

Tho' fortune ever fhuns my door,

I know not what can bewitch her, With all my heart can 1 be poor,

With my fweet girl, my friend, and pitcher.

My friend fo rare, &c. THE

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