S O N G XIX.

Tune, Johnny's Grey Breeks.

I.

INTEMPERANCE, thy pleasure's false;
Thou art the cause of future pain:
By abstinence I thee will curb,
And fly thy wild, delusive train.

II.

When smoothly flows a silent tide,
And passion's qui't and undisturb'd,
And gross affections all subdu'd,
My reason's no more under cloud:

III.

Then, in old age, I'm fresh and green,
My judgement still is sound and clear;
My sentiments will be refin'd,
And virtue still shall be my care.

IV.

Remorse of conscience may, no doubt,
Disturb my breast, and give disqui't;
But while my reason keeps the field,
Intemperance I still shall hate:

V.

But when that passion bears the sway,
Then I may bid adieu to peace;
Contentment I can not enjoy,
Nor can I have corporeal ease.

VI.

The gout, the gravel, or some ills
That may be of a ghastly train,
Will still my character expose,
And bring reproach instead of fame.

VII.

When reason once hath lost the helm,
And headlong passions bear the sway,
To actions that do bring disgrace,
They hurry mankind fast away:

VIII.

It hastens on old age too soon,
And is the cause of many tears,
With shaking hand and furrow'd brow,
A man seems old at forty years:

IX.

But by the rules of temperance,
Some men advance to good old age,
And seldom feel the racking pains,
That many meet upon this stage.

X.

Away with feasts of luxury!
Or gilded baits that have me ta'en!
Ye gaudy scenes now fly away,
That make me pay so dear with pain!

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