Sung by one in the Habit of a Town Gallant
Let us drink and be merry, dance, joke and rejoice,
With Claret and Sherry, Theorbo and Voice:
The changeable world to our joy is unjust,
All treasure uncertain, then down with your dust
In frolic dispose your pounds, shillings and pence,
For we shall be nothing a hundred years hence.
We’ll kiss and be free with Nan, Betty, and Philly,
Have oysters and lobsters, and maids by the belly:
Fish-dinners will make a lass spring like a flea,
Dame Venus (Love’s goddess) was born by the sea.
With her and with Bacchus we’ll tickle the sense,
For we shall be past it a hundred years hence.
Your most beautiful bit that hath all eyes upon her,
That her honesty sells for a hogo of honour;
Whose lightness and brightness doth shine in such splendour
That none but the stars are thought fit to attend her,
Though now she be pleasant and sweet to the sense,
Will be damnably mouldy a hundred years hence.
Then why should we turmoil in cares and in fears,
Turn all our tranquillity to sighs and to tears?
Let’s eat, drink and play till the worms do corrupt us,
‘Tis certain that post mortem nulla Voluptas.
Let’s deal with our damsels, that we may from thence
Have broods to succeed us a hundred years hence….
(Hogo: taint, or flavour. Post mortem …: there is no pleasure after death).