Who Casts To Write A Living Line,

Minds That Are Great And Free, Should Not On Fortune Pause: 'tis Crown Enough To Virtue Still, Her Own Applause.

Success Hath Made Me Wanton.

Nor Shall Our Cups Make Any Guilty Men; But At Our Parting, We Will Be, As When We Innocently Met.

Wine It Is The Milk Of Venus, And The Poet's Horse Accounted: Ply It And You All Are Mounted.

Still To Be Neat, Still To Be Drest, As You Were Going To A Feast, Still To Be Powder'd, All Perfum'd. Lady, It Is To Be Presumed, Though Art's Hid Causes Are Not Found, All Is Not Sweet, All Is Not Sound.