In frolics dispose your pounds, shillings, and pence, For we shall be nothing a hundred years hence.
We'll sport and be free with Frank, Betty, and Dolly, Have lobsters and oysters to cure melancholy; Fish dinners will make a man spring like a flea, Dame Venus, love's lady, was born of the sea; With her and with Bacchus we'll tickle the sense, For we shall be past it a hundred years hence.