Classic Poem

Come , let's mind our drinking,
Away with this thinking;
It ne'er, that I heard of, did any one good;
Prevents not disaster,
But brings it on faster,
Mischance is by mirth and by courage withstood.

He ne'er can recover
The day that is over,
The present is with us, and does threaten no ill;
He's a fool that will sorrow
For the thing call'd to-morrow,
But the hour we've in hand we may wield as we will.

There's nothing but Bacchus
Right merry can make us,
That virtue particular is to the vine;
It fires en'ry creature
With wit and good-nature,
Whose thoughts can be dark when their noses do shine?

A night of good drinking
Is worth a year's thinking,
There's nothing that kills us so surely as sorrow;
Then to drown our cares, boys,
Let's drink up the stars, boys,
Each face of the gang will a sun be to-morrow.

Come , let's mind our drinking,
Away with this thinking;
It ne'er, that I heard of, did any one good;
Prevents not disaster,
But brings it on faster,
Mischance is by mirth and by courage withstood.

He ne'er can recover
The day that is over,
The present is with us, and does threaten no ill;
He's a fool that will sorrow
For the thing call'd to-morrow,
But the hour we've in hand we may wield as we will.

There's nothing but Bacchus
Right merry can make us,
That virtue particular is to the vine;
It fires en'ry creature
With wit and good-nature,
Whose thoughts can be dark when their noses do shine?

A night of good drinking
Is worth a year's thinking,
There's nothing that kills us so surely as sorrow;
Then to drown our cares, boys,
Let's drink up the stars, boys,
Each face of the gang will a sun be to-morrow.