O Thou, The Drink Of Gods And

Oft Have I Heard Both Youths And Virgins Say, Birds Chuse Their Mates And Couple Too This Day: But By Their Flight I Never Can Devine When I Shall Couple With My Valentine.

Like Will To Like, Each Creature Loves His Kind.

Well I Sup And Well I Dine, When I Drink My Frolic Wine.

Let Wealth Come In By Comely Thrift, And Not By Any Sordid Shift; 't Is Haste Makes Waste; Extremes Have Still Their Fault. Who Gripes Too Hard The Dry And Slipp'ry Sand, Holds None At All, Or Little, In His Hand.

Seldom Comes Glory Till A Man Be Dead.