Fortune, That Favors Fools.

Nor For My Peace Will I Go Far, As Wanderers Do, That Still Do Roam, But Make My Strengths, Such As They Are, Here In My Bosom, And At Home.

To Struggle When Hope Is Banished! To Live When Life's Salt Is Gone! To Dwell In A Dream That's Vanished- To Endure, And Go Calmly On!

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.

Spread Yourself Upon His Bosom Publicly, Whose Heart You Would Eat In Private.

There Is No Doctrine Will Do Good Where Nature Is Wanting.