When bounteous autumn rears her head, he joys to pull the ripened pear.
Among our crimes oblivion may be set.
All, as they say, that glitters is not gold.
An horrible stillness first invades our ear, And in that silence we the tempest fear.
What, start at this! when sixty years have spread. Their grey experience o'er thy hoary head? Is this the all observing age could gain? Or hast thou known the world so long in vain?
Bacchus ever fair and young, Drinking joys did first ordain. Bachus's blessings are a treasure, Drinking is the soldier's pleasure, Rich the treasure, Sweet the pleasure- Sweet is pleasure after pain.