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While vex'd and hipp'd at England's fate,
In these convulsive days,
I can't endure the ruin'd state
My sober eye surveys.
But through the bottle's dazzling glare,
The gloom appears less plain,
And that I think a reason fair,
To fill my glass again.
And that I think, &c.
Nay more, as moves the circling glass,
Can flesh and blood forbear,
If pros'd by some dull reas'r.mg ass,
Who treads the path of care :
Or harder taxed, I'm doom'd to hear
Some fribbling coxcomb's strain ;
Why that I think a reason fair,
To fill my glass again.
Why that I think, &c.
And don't we see love's fetters too,
With different folds entwine ;
While nought but death can some undo,
Yet some give way to wine :
For me, the lighter head I wear,
The lighter hangs the chain,
And that I think a reason fair,
To fill my glass again.
And that I think, &c.
And now I'll tell, to end my song,
At what I most rep-ne,
This cursed war, tho' right or wrong,
Is war against all wine.
Nay port, they say, will soon be rare,
As juice of France or Spain,
P

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