_Bold-street, Liverpool,_
_Oct. 15, 1827._
Busy, curious, thirsty fly
Drink with me and drink as I;
Freely welcome to my cup,
Couldst thou sip and sup it up.
Make the most of life you may,
Life is short and wears away.
Life is short, &c.
Both alike are thine and mine,
Hastening quick to their decline;
Thine’s a summer, mine’s no more,
Though repeated to threescore;
Threescore summers, when they’re gone,
Then will appear as short as one.
Then will appear, &c.
Time seems little to look back,
And moves on like clock or jack;
As the moments of the fly
Fortune swiftly passes by,
And, when life’s short thread is spun,
The larum strikes, and we are gone.
The larum, &c.
What is life men so prefer?
It is but sorrow, toil, and care:
He that is endow’d with wealth
Oftentimes may want his health,
And a man of healthful state
Poverty may be his fate.
Poverty may, &c.
Some are so inclined to pride,
That the poor they can’t abide,
Tho’ themselves are not secure,
He that’s rich may soon be poor;
Fortune is at no man’s call,
Some shall rise whilst others fall.
Some shall, &c.
Some ambitious men do soar
For to get themselves in power,
And those mirk and airy fools
Strive to advance their master’s rule;
But a sudden turn of fate
Shall humble him who once was great.
Shall humble, &c.
He that will live happy must
Be to his king and country just;
Be content, and that is more
Than all the miser’s golden store;
And whenever life shall cease,
He may lay him down in peace.
He may lay, &c.
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