Why spend your leisure bereft of pleasure?
Amassing treasure, why scrape and save?
Why look so canny at ev'ry penny?
You'll take no money within the grave.
Landlords and gentry with all their plenty
must still go empty where'er they're bound.
So to my thinking we'd best be drinking
our glasses clinking and round and round.

King Solomon's glory, so famed in story,
was far outshone by the lilies guise,
but hard winds harden both field and garden,
pleading for pardon, the lily dies.
Life's but a bauble of toil and trouble,
the feathered arrow, once shot ne'er found.
So, lads and lasses, because life passes,
come fill your glasses for another round.

The huckster greedy, he blinds the needy,
their strifes unheeding, shouts: "Money down!"
His special vices, his fancy prices,
for a florin's value he'll charge a crown.
With hump for tramel, the scripture's camel
missed the needle's eye and so came to ground.
Why pine for riches, while still you've stitches
to hold your britches up? Another round!