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The labouring hind, who with hard toil and pains,
Amidst his wants, a wretched life maintains;
If thy rich juice his homely supper crown,
Hot with thy fires, and bolder grown,
Of kings, and of their arbitrary power,
And how by impious arms they reign,
Fiercely he talks with rude disdain,
And vows to be a slave, to be a wretch, no more.
VII. -
Fair Queen of Love, and thou great God of Wine, ).
Hear every grace, and all ye powers divine, }
All that to mirth and friendship do incline,
Crown this auspicious Cask, and happy night,
With all things that can give delight;
Be every care and anxious thought away;
Ye tapers still be bright and clear,
Rival the moon, and each pale star,
'our beams shall yield to none, but his who brings

the day. -

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