Song CX. a Toast

When running Life's Race, We gallop apace, Each strives to be first at the Post; Mount Hope with Catch-weights, For Game's Give-and-take Plates, And pray what is Fame but a Toast?

The Taste of our days Is poaching for praise, All Men of their Services boast; The Ladies by Dress, The same ardour express, Each wou'd if she cou'd be a Toast.

Both Sexes agree, Over Wine to be free, For Freedom's an Englishman's boast; As freely we think, So as freely we drink, And a Sentiment give for a Toast.

What is Life? prithee say, But a Glass and away, While Health is our ruddy-fac'd Host; But when we abuse him, We're certain to lose him, By taking too much of a Toast.

These Common-place Rhimes Suit Common-place Times, Who now can of Genius boast?— Why, really, I think 'Tis a Science to drink, And there's Genius in giving a Toast.

Even Politics fail, Altercation grows stale, Of what now can either side boast? No matter to us, All their Farce and their Fuss, Deserves not the name of a Toast.

The Riots and Routs Of the Ins and the Outs, Is only a newspaper roast; Of Cricket I sing, In and Out there's the thing, And there I'll attempt a new Toast.

May our Innings be long, May our bowling be strong, Middle-wicket I chuse for my post; Come, bumper away, 'Twixt the Stumps your Balls play, And win the Game Love—that's the Toast.