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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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