Alexander Brome (Александр Бром)
A Round
SIt round, sit round, leave musing and thinking, Hang caring and working, let's fall to our drink∣ing; The works of our hands Shall purchase no lands, But in spight of all care wee'l be frolick; He that does the glass skip, May he die of the pip, Or be lowsie that none shall endure him; Or be plagu'd with the stone or the cholick, And find ne'r a Surgeon to cure him.
Alexander Brome’s other poems:
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