Classic Poem

We, on the present hour relying,
Think not of future, nor of past,
But seize each moment as 'tis flying,
Perhaps the next may be our last.

Perhaps old Charon, at his wherry,
This moment waits to wast us o'er;
Then charge your glasses, and be merry,
For fear we ne'er should charge them more.

II.

With brow austere, and head reclining,
Let envy, age, and haggard care
Grow sour, and at our joy repining,
Blame pleasures which they cannot share.

Put round the glasses, and be jolly,
In spight of all such idle stuff,
Whether 'tis wisdom, or 'tis solly,
'Tis pleasure boys, and that's enough,