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This glee gained a Catch Club prize medal in 1785.

Lyrics: Anon, probably the composer

Dull, repining sons of care,
O'er your treasures waste the night;
Lose each moment anxious there,
Nor taste the bloom of sweet delight.

While to mirth's gay court we fly,
Revel there and truly live,
Drain the bowl where pleasures lie,
And ev'ry hour to rapture give.

Our wand'ring steps pale Cynthia guides,
Lest from the path we chance to stray;
Til we arrive where love presides,
And laughing Bacchus leads the way.

John Wall Callcott
(1766 - 1821)

Callcott : Dull, repining sons of care : illustration


Dull, repining sons of care

(A.T.T.B. + reduction)

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