Song

Fill the foaming cups again,
Let's be merry while we may;
Man is foolish to complain
When such joys are in his way:
Cares may breed in peevish minds,
Life at best is short and vain,
Wisdom takes the joys she finds—
Fill the foaming cups again.

Fortune, she may slight us, boys,
Boast her thousands to our crowns,
Give to knaves her smiles and joys,
We Can feast upon her frowns.
What care we how rich she be,
Let our needs but meet supply,
Kings may govern, so will we—
Foaming cups before we're dry.

Fill them foaming o'er again,
Fill with cordial to the brim;
Let the peevish soul complain,
Care is worthy none but him.
Hearts of oak we're born to die;
Toast for comforts while we reign,—
"Let our needs but meet supply—
Foaming cups be fill'd again."