The man that joins in life’s career | |
And hopes to find some comfort here, | |
To rise above this earthly mass,— | |
The only way ’s to drink his glass. | |
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But still, on this uncertain stage | |
Where hopes and fears the soul engage, | |
And while, amid the joyous band, | |
Unheeded flows the measured sand, | |
Forget not as the moments pass | |
That time shall bring the parting glass! | |
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In spite of all the mirth I ’ve heard, | |
This is the glass I always feared, | |
The glass that would the rest destroy, | |
The farewell cup, the close of joy. | |
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With you, whom reason taught to think, | |
I could for ages sit and drink; | |
But with the fool, the sot, the ass, | |
I haste to take the parting glass. | |
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The luckless wight, that still delays | |
His draught of joys to future days, | |
Delays too long—for then, alas! | |
Old age steps up, and—breaks the glass! | |
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The nymph who boasts no borrowed charms, | |
Whose sprightly wit my fancy warms,— | |
What though she tends this country inn, | |
And mixes wine, and deals out gin? | |
With such a kind, obliging lass, | |
I sigh to take the parting glass. | |
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With him who always talks of gain | |
(Dull Momus, of the plodding train), | |
The wretch who thrives by others’ woes, | |
And carries grief where’er he goes,— | |
With people of this knavish class | |
The first is still my parting glass. | |
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With those that drink before they dine, | |
With him that apes the grunting swine, | |
Who fills his page with low abuse, | |
And strives to act the gabbling goose | |
Turned out by fate to feed on grass— | |
Boy, give me quick, the parting glass. | |
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The man whose friendship is sincere, | |
Who knows no guilt, and feels no fear,— | |
It would require a heart of brass | |
With him to take the parting glass. | |
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With him who quaffs his pot of ale, | |
Who holds to all an even scale, | |
Who hates a knave in each disguise, | |
And fears him not—whate’er his size— | |
With him, well pleased my days to pass, | |
May heaven forbid the Parting Glass! | |