CHORUS.

Surely we for wine may languish!

Let the bumper then go round!
For all sighs and groans of anguish

We have now in rapture drown'd.

Let each merry minstrel enter,

He's right welcome to our hall!
'Tis but with the self─tormentor

That we are not liberal;

For we fear that his caprices,

That his eye-brows dark and sad,
That his grief that never ceases

Hide an empty heart, or bad.