Page:Sailor's epitaph, or, Tom Bowling under the hatches.pdf/8

 For sunshine’s succeeded by sorrow,

Then fearful of life’s stormy weather.

Lest pleasure should only bring pain,

Let us all be unhappy together.

I grant, the best blessings we know,

Is a friend, for true friendship’s a treasure.

And lest that your friend prove a foe,

O taste not the dangerous pleasure.

Thus friendship’s a flimsy affair.

And riches and health are a bubble.

There’s nothing delightful but care,

Nor any thing charming bat trouble.

If a man he would point out that life,

Which appears to him nearest to heaven.

Let him thank his stars, chuse a wife,

To whom truth and honour is given.

But honour and truth are so rare,

And horns when they’re cutting so tingle,

With all due respect to the fair,

I advise them to sigh and live single.

It appears from these premises plain,

That wisdom is nothing but folly.

That pleasure’s a term that means pain,

And joy is your true melancholy

Then those who do laugh ought to cry,

'Tis fine frisk and fun to be grieving,

And since we must all of us die.

We’ll taste no enjoyment while living.