Grow rosy and wise,
Nor longer the jest of good fellows appear;
Bid adieu to your folly,
Get drunk and be jolly,
And smoke o’er a tankard of Newcastle beer.
Ye fanciful folk, for whom Physic prescribes,
Whom bolus and potion have harrass’d to death!
Ye wretches, whom Law and her ill-looking tribes,
Have hunted about ’till you’re quite out of breath!
Here’s shelter and ease,