Fill, Fill, Fill a brimming glass;
Each man toast his favourite lass.
He that flinches is an ass,
Unworthy love or wine.

Bacchus crowns the flowing bowl,
Wine does all our cares controul,
Love exalts a human soul,
And makes it next divine.

O, I feel it cheer my heart;
'Tis a sin so soon to start;
Let us drink, before we part,
A health to thine and mine.