When Bounteous Autumn Rears Her Head, He

Fool That I Was, Upon My Eagle's Wings I Bore This Wren, Till I Was Tired With Soaring, And Now He Mounts Above Me.

Bold Knaves Thrive Without One Grain Of Sense, But Good Men Starve For Want Of Impudence.

Old As I Am, For Ladies' Love Unfit, The Power Of Beauty I Remember Yet.

Damn'd Neuters, In Their Middle Way Of Steering, Are Neither Fish, Nor Flesh, Nor Good Red Herring.

Fattened In Vice, So Callous And So Gross, He Sins And Sees Not, Senseless Of His Loss.