Come, come, let us drink,
'Tis in vain to think,
Like fools, on grief or Sadness;
Let our Money fly,
And our Sorrows die,
All worldly care is Madness:
But Sack and good Chear,
Will in spight of our fear,
Inspire our Souls with Gladness.
I shall only add his Poem which he made on the great Cryer at Westminster-Hall, by which you may judge of his Abilities in Poetry.