Summer Fête, The - Song

Some mortals there may be, so wise, or so fine,
As in evenings like this no enjoyment to see;
But, as I 'm not particular — wit, love, and wine,
Are for one night's amusement sufficient for me.
Nay — humble and strange as my tastes may appear —
If driven to the worst, I could manage, thank Heaven,
To put up with eyes such as beam round me here,
And such wine as we 're sipping, six days out of seven.
So pledge me a bumper — your sages profound
May be blest, if they will, on their own patent plan:
But as we are not sages, why — send the cup round —
We must only be happy the best way we can.

A reward by some king was once offered, we 're told,
To whoe'er could invent a new bliss for mankind;
But talk of new pleasures! — give me but the old,
And I 'll leave your inventors all new ones they find.
Or should I, in quest of fresh realms of bliss,
Set sail in the pinnace of Fancy some day,
Let the rich rosy sea I embark on be this,
And such eyes as we 've here be the stars of my way!
In the mean time, a bumper — your Angels, on high,
May have pleasures unknown to life's limited span;
But, as we are not Angels, why — let the flask fly —
We must be happy all ways that we can.
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