Poem by William Oldys

The Fly

    An Anacreontick

BUSY, curious, thirsty Fly, 
Gently drink, and drink as I; 
Freely welcome to my Cup, 
Could’st thou sip, and sip it up; 
Make the most of Life you may, 
Life is short and wears away.

Just alike, both mine and thine, 
Hasten quick to their Decline; 
Thine’s a Summer, mine’s no more, 
Though repeated to threescore; 
Threescore Summers when they’re gone,
Will appear as short as one.

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