She Who Has Never Lov'd, Has Never

To Frame The Little Animal, Provide All The Gay Hues That Wait On Female Pride: Let Nature Guide Thee; Sometimes Golden Wire The Shining Bellies Of The Fly Require; The Peacock's Plumes Thy Tackle Must Not Fail, Nor The Dear Purchase Of The Sable's Tail.

If The Heart Of A Man Is Depressed With Cares, The Mist Is Dispell'd When A Woman Appears; Like The Notes Of A Fiddle, She Sweetly, Sweetly Raises The Spirits, And Charms Our Ears.

Why Is The Hearse With Scutcheons Blazon'd Round, And With The Nodding Plume Of Ostrich Crown'd? No; The Dead Know It Not, Nor Profit Gain; It Only Serves To Prove The Living Vain.

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

No Author Ever Spar'd A Brother.