How Happy Could I Be With Either,

If With Me You'd Fondly Stray Over The Hills And Far Away.

My Lodging Is On The Cold Ground, And Hard, Very Hard, Is My Fare, But That Which Grieves Me More Is The Coldness Of My Dear.

O Polly, You Might Have Toyed And Kissed, By Keeping Men Off, You Keep Them On.

Beasts Kill For Hunger, Men For Pay.

The Careful Insect 'midst His Works I View, Now From The Flowers Exhaust The Fragrant Dew, With Golden Treasures Load His Little Thighs, And Steer His Distant Journey Through The Skies.