A Reason Fair to Fill My Glass

I've oft been asked by prosing souls
And men of sober tongue,
What joys there are in draining bowls
And tippling all night long?
But though these cautious knaves scorn,
For once I'll not disdain
To tell them why I drink till morn,
And fill my glass again.

'Tis by the glow my bumper gives
Life's picture's mellow made;
The fading light then brightly lives,
And softly sinks the shade:
Some happier tint still rises there
With every drop I drain,
And that I think's a reason fair
To fill my glass again.

My muse, too, when her wings are dry,
No frolic flight will take,
But round the bowl she'll dip and fly
Like swallows round a lake;
Then if the nymphs will have their share
Before they'll bless their swain,
Why that I think 's a reason fair
To fill my glass again.

In life I've rung all changes through,
Run every pleasure down
'Mid each extreme of folly, too,
And lived with half the town;
For me there's nothing new or rare
Till wine deceives my brain,
And that I think's a reason fair
To fill my glass again.

There's many a lad I knew is dead,
And many a lass grown old,
And as the lesson strikes my head
My weary heart grows cold;
But wine awhile drives off despair,
Nay, bids a hope remain.
Why, that I think's a reason fair
To fill my glass again.

I find too when I stint my glass
And sit with sober air,
I'm posed by some dull reasoning ass
Who treads the path of care;
Or, harder still, am doomed to bear
Some coxcomb's fribbling strain.
And that I'm sure's a reason fair
To fill my glass again.

Though hipped and vexed at England's fate
In these convulsive days,
I can't endure the ruined state
My sober eye surveys;
But through the bottle's dazzling glare
The gloom is seen less plain,
And that I think's a reason fair
To fill my glass again.