Gather Ye Rose-buds While Ye May, Old

A Winning Wave, (deserving Note.) In The Tempestuous Petticote, A Careless Shoe-string, In Whose Tye I See A Wilde Civility,-- Doe More Bewitch Me Than When Art Is Too Precise In Every Part.

Give, If Thou Can, An Alms; If Not, A Sweet And Gentle Word.

Conquer We Shall, But, We Must First Contend! It's Not The Fight That Crowns Us, But The End.

In Things A Moderation Keep; Kings Ought To Shear, Not Skin, Their Sheep.

Fain Would I Kiss My Julia's Dainty Leg, Which Is As White And Hairless As An Egg.