Man! thy fruitless Labour spare:
Vain, alas! is all thy Care!
Cruel Death's uplifted Arm
Wealth or Titles cannot charm.
Fleeting Time no Bribe will stay:
Swift the Moments haste away:
Beyond recall the past are gone,
The present still are posting on;
All to come, perhaps, may be,
Never, never known, by Thee.

Since 'tis so, this Instant prove
All the Joys of Life and Love.
Be in Champaign thy Sorrows drown'd,
Briskly let it sparkle round:
On the Fair One's snowy Breast,
Lost to Care, be fully blest:
Boldly reap her blooming Charms,
And fill the Circle of her Arms.
For Death will strike, and Thou shalt have
But a dark and silent Grave.