The Silver Moon

The silver moon that shines so bright, I swear with reason is my teacher; And if my minute glass was right, We've time to drink another pitcher.

'Tis not yet day, 'tis not yet day, Then why should we forsake good liquor Until the sun-beams round us play, Let's jocound push about the pitcher.

They say that I must work all day, And sleep at night to grow much richer; But what is all the world can say, Compar'd to mirth, my friend, and pitcher. 'Tis not yet day, &c.

Tho one may boast a handsome wife, Yet strange vagaries may bewitch her; Unvex'd I live a cheerful life, And boldly call for t'other pitcher. 'Tis not yet day, &c.

I dearly love a hearty man, (No sneaking milk sop Jemmy Twitche.) Who loves a lass, and loves a glass, And boldly calls for t'other pitcher. 'Tis not yet day, &c.