George Ogle (1742–1814)

BANISH sorrow, grief’s a folly,

Thought, unbend thy wrinkled brow;

Hence dull care and melancholy,

Mirth and wine invite us now.

Bacchus empties all his treasure;

Comus gives us mirth and song;

Follow, follow, follow, follow,

Follow, follow pleasure—

Let us join the jovial throng.

Youth soon flies, ’tis but a season;

Time is ever on the wing;

Let’s the present moment seize on,

Who knows what the next may bring?

All our days by mirth we measure;

Other wisdom we despise;

Follow, follow, follow, follow,

Follow, follow pleasure—

To be happy’s to be wise.

Why should therefore care perplex us?

Why should we not merry be?

While we’re here, there’s nought to vex us,

Drinking sets from cares all free;

Let’s have drinking without measure;

Let’s have mirth while time we have;

Follow, follow, follow, follow,

Follow, follow pleasure—

There’s no drinking in the grave.