Follow Love And It Will Flee, Flee

I Hate The Man Who Builds His Name On Ruins Of Another's Fame. Thus Prudes, By Characters O'erthrown, Imagine That They Raise Their Own. Thus Scribblers, Covetous Of Praise, Think Slander Can Transplant The Bays.

What Then In Love Can Woman Do? If We Grow Fond They Shun Us. And When We Fly Them, They Pursue: But Leave Us When They've Won Us.

What Will Not Luxury Taste? Earth, Sea, And Air, Are Daily Ransack'd For The Bill Of Fare. Blood Stuffed In Skins Is British Christians' Food, And France Robs Marshes Of The Croaking Brood.

No Retreat. No Retreat. They Must Conquer Or Die Who've No Retreat.

How, Like A Moth, The Simple Maid Still Plays Around The Flame!