Page:Tibby Fowler, or, The lass with the siller bridle.pdf/5

                       ( 4 ) We venture our ſweet lives, in defence of our nation, And we get nothing for it             but toil and vexation.

THE W O R L D A  S T A G E.

To its own Proper Tune.

THIS world is a ſtage, On which mankind engage, And each acts his part in the throng; But all is confuſion, Meer folly, deluſion, And faith, nothing elſe but a ſong. A ſong, a S---g. And, faith, nothing elſe but a ſong.

The ſarson ſo grave, Says your ſoul he will ſave, And points the right way from the wrong, After piouſly teaching, And long winded preaching, He puts of his flock with a ſong,

The Doctor he fills You with bolus and pills, With aſſurance to make you live long: But believe me 'tis true, The guinea's in view And the reſt is all but a ſong.