Though I Love My Country, I Do

Yet Smelt Roast Meat, Beheld A Huge Fire Shine, And Cooks In Motion With Their Clean Arms Bared.

Venice Once Was Dear, The Pleasant Place Of All Festivity, The Revel Of The Earth, The Masque Of Italy.

I Die But First I Have Possessed, And Come What May, I Have Been Blessed.

I Have Imbibed Such A Love For Money That I Keep Some Sequins In A Drawer To Count, And Cry Over Them Once A Week.

For Through The South The Custom Still Commands The Gentleman To Kiss The Lady's Hands.