Look Round, The Wrecks Of Play Behold;

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.

Give Me, Kind Heaven, A Private Station, A Mind Serene For Contemplation.

I Never, With Important Air, In Conversation Overbear. . . . . My Tongue Within My Lips I Rein; For Who Talks Much Must Talk In Vain.

Lest Men Suspect Your Tale Untrue, Keep Probability In View.

Fill Ev'ry Glass, For Wine Inspires Us, And Fires Us With Courage, Love And Joy. Women And Wine Should Life Employ. Is There Ought Else On Earth Desirous?