Classic Poem

The philosophers, moralists, poets, and those
Who have left their opinions in verse and in prose,
Fine lessons have taught, tho' not all understood,
Yet entirely meant, I dare say, for our good;
The chiefest of which we may readily scan,
That our time here below is no more than a span.

The assertion is just, if with reason we view,
Mortality constantly shews us 'tis true;
Then to fill up this trifle of being below,
Is a doctrine, I think, which we all ought to know:
For a moment attend to my song, if you can,
And I'll teach the best method to fill up the span.

Leave the parson to preach, and the pedant to prate,
The poet to scribble, the statesman to fate;
The bully to bluster, the valiant to fight,
The lawyer to wrangle of wrong and of right;
Their bus'ness is not in the course of my plan,
With matter more pleasing I'll fill up the span.

Mirth, beauty and wine, shall prepare ye a feast,
And smiling good humour bid welcome each guest;
'Tis a banquet suits only the jovial and gay;
Let the grave, the mortar, and the dull keep away:
Insipid by nature, they'll like not the plan;
So just as they chuse — let them fill up the span.

To a couch deck'd for pleasure let beauty be led,
With roses and lilies all careless o'erspread;
Let the soft breathing flute to her murmurings join,
When love melts on her bosom in raptures divine:
That this is true pleasure deny it who can;
And this is the method to fill up the span.

Let good-humour, as president, sit in the chair,
And ruddy-fac'd Bacchus, with Momus, appear;
Let the full flowing goblet go chearfully round,
And the heart-lifting song to the Heavens resound;
Let all in full Chorus approve of the plan,
And own this the method to fill up the span.