The Merry Man

The merry man, Who loves his can, Laughs and jokes, Chats and smoaks, Nor dreams of noise and state, Enjoys the hour, That's in his pow'r, Tells a tale, Quaffs his ale, Nor fears the frowns of fate.

Here with liberty blest, brightest gem of our isle, United with plenty and health: At the restless ambition of grandeur we smile, Content without title or wealth. When the dawn first appears and the Lark tunes her lay, We rise to sweet scenes of delight; Mirth pleasantly softens the toils of the day, And with pastime we welcome the night.