And with wine such as this is six days out of seven.
So pledge me a bumber—your sages profound
May be blest, if they will, on their own patent plan;
But as we are not sages, why—send the cup round—
We must only be happy the best way we can.
A reward by some king was once offer'd, we're told,
To whoe'er could invent a new bliss for mankind;
But talk of new pleasures!—give me but the old,
And I'll leave your inventors all new ones they find.
Or should I, in quest of fresh realms of bliss,