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John Gay

By This Poet

1

Three Airs for the Beggar's Opera, Air XXII

Youth's the season made for joys, 
Love is then our duty; 
She alone who that employs, 
Well deserves her beauty. 
Let's be gay, 
While we may, 
Beauty's a flower despis'd in decay.

Let us drink and sport to-day, 
Ours is not tomorrow. 
Love with youth flies swift away, 
Age is nought but sorrow. 
Dance and sing, 
Time's on the wing, 
Life never knows the return of spring.