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‹‹‹ prev (285) Page 169Page 169I'm often ask'd by plodding souls

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More bright the figures float in air,
With every drop I drain,
And that I think a reason fair,
To fill ray glass again.
And that I think, &c.
My muse, whene'er her wings are dry,
No frolic flights will take,
But o'er the bowl she'll dip and fly,
Like swallows round a lake.
Then if the nymph must have her share.
Before she'll bless her swain,
Why that I think a reason fair,
To fill my glass again.
Why that I think, Sec.
I've beat each haunt with game in view.
Run every pleasure down,
Drove fashion's airy circle through,
And lived with all the town ;
To me there's nothing new or rare.
Till wine deceives my brain,
And that I think a reason fair,
To fill my glass again.
And that I think, See.
Now manv a lad I lik'd is dead,
And many a lass grown old ;
And as the lesson strikes my head,
My weary heart grows cold.
But wine a while holds off despair,
Nay bids a hope retrial i,
And that I think a reason fair, .
To. fill my gias.i again.
And that I think. &c.

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