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A Tankard of Ale
For let 'em be clumsy, or let 'em be slim, Young or ancient, I care not a feather ; So fill a pint bumper quite up to the brim, So fill up your glasses, nay, fill to the brim, And let us e'en toast them together.
Chorus. Let the toast pass— Drink to the lass, I'll warrant she'll prove an excuse for a glass.
ONE BUMPER AT PARTING
By Thomas Moore (1779-1852)
One bumper at parting !—though many
Have circled the board since we met, The fullest, the saddest of any,
Remains to be crowned by us yet. The sweetness that pleasure has in it
Is always so 6low to come forth, That seldom, alas I till the minute
It dies, do we know half its worth ! But fill—may our life's happy measure
Be all of such moments made up ; They're born on the bosom of pleasure,
They die 'midst the tears of the cup.
As onward we journey, how pleasant
To pause and inhabit awhile Those few sunny spots, like the present,
That 'mid the dull wilderness smile ! But Time, like a pitiless master,
Cries " Onward ! " and spurs the gay hours ;