Youth's The Season Made For Joys, Love

Fair Is The Marigold, For Pottage Meet.

When We Risk No Contradiction, It Prompts The Tongue To Deal In Fiction.

One Common Fate We Both Must Prove; You Die With Envy, I With Love.

Can Love Be Controll'd By Advice?

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