WITH BY THE ITH women and wine I defy every care, Let grave fober mortals my maxims condemn, I care not how much they my measures decline, Wine, prudently us'd, will our fenfes improve; As when Mars bound his head with a branch of the vine. Then come, my dear charmer! thou nymph half divine! But should't thou my paffion for wine difapprove, SONG SONG LVIII. BY WILLIAM SHENSTONE ESQ. A DIEU, ye jovial youths, who join To plunge old Care in floods of wine; And, as your dazzled eye-balls roll, Difcern him ftruggling in the bowl. Not yet is hope fo wholly flown, And fee, through yonder filent grove, The fole confufion I admire, |