merry-make; and the cold Lip I kiss’d

How many Kisses might it take—and give!

For in the Market-place, one Dusk of Day,

I watch’d the Potter thumping his wet Clay:

   And with its all obliterated Tongue

It murmur’d—“Gently, Brother, gently, pray!”

Ah, fill the Cup:—what boots it to repeat

How Time is slipping underneath our Feet:

   Unborn TO-MORROW, and dead YESTERDAY,

Why fret about them if TO-DAY be sweet!

One Moment in Annihilation’s Waste,

One Moment, of the Well of Life to taste—

   The Stars are setting and the Caravan

Starts for the Dawn of Nothing—Oh, make haste!

How long, how long, in infinite Pursuit

Of This and That endeavour and dispute?

   Better be merry with the fruitful Grape

Than sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit.

You know, my Friends, how long since in my House

For a new Marriage I did make Carouse:

   Divorced old Barren Reason from my Bed,

And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse.

For “Is” and “Is-NOT” though with Rule and Line,