You’ll weep your woes and wonder at your fate;
And cry, ‘Behold,’ as life’s last cares come on,
‘My burthens growing when my strength is gone.’
“Now turn with me, and all the young desire,
That taste can form, that fancy can require;
All that excites enjoyment, or procures
Wealth, health, respect, delight, and love, are yours:
Sparkling, in cups of gold, your wines shall flow,
Grace that fair hand, in that dear bosom glow;
Fruits of each clime, and flowers, through all the year