With an honest old friend, and merry old song,
And a flask of old port, let me sit the night long,
And laugh at the malice of those who repine,
That they must swig porter, whilst I can drink wine

I ^{(illegible text)}ry no mortal, though ever so great,
Nor score I a wretch for his lowly estate;
But what I abhor, and esteem as a curse,
In poorness of spirit, not poorness in purse.

Then dare to be generous, dauntless, and gay,
Let's merrily pass life's remainder away:
Upheld by our friends, we our foes may despise,
For the more we are envied the higher rise.