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TFriches could prolong our flay,

To court them I'd begin;
That when grim Minos came my way,

I'd bid him call again.
But since I find it all in vain,

And death pays no respect,
No longer shall they give me pain,

But treat them with neglect.
For foon or late the lot must come,

To pay the debt we owe,
And lay us in the filent tomb,

Whether we're rich or no.
Then give me, gods, but health and friends,

And I'll no longer grieve;
But laugh at care, which life attends,

And WEALTH to others leave.
The gen’rous glafs I'll freely quaff,

And fill it o'er and o'er, 'Till Death shall stop the jocund laugh,

By knocking at my door.

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