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Why spend your leisure bereft of pleasure |
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A massing treasure why scrape and save? |
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Why look so canny at ev'ry penny? |
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You'll take no money within the grave |
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Landlords and gentry with all their plenty |
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Must still go empty where e'er they're bound |
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So to my thinking we'd best be drinking |
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Our glasses clinking and round and round |
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King Solomon's glory, so famed in story |
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Was far outshone by the lillies guise |
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But hard winds harden both field and garden |
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Pleading for pardon, the lily dies |
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Life's but a bauble of toil and trouble |
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The feathered arrow, once shot ne'er found |
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So, lads and lasses, because life passes |
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Come fill your glasses for another round |
