How Happy Could I Be With Either,

Why Is The Hearse With Scutcheons Blazon'd Round, And With The Nodding Plume Of Ostrich Crown'd? No; The Dead Know It Not, Nor Profit Gain; It Only Serves To Prove The Living Vain.

Who Hath Not Heard The Rich Complain Of Surfeits, And Corporeal Pain? He Barr'd From Every Use Of Wealth, Envies The Ploughman's Strength And Health.

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

Beasts Kill For Hunger, Men For Pay.

Man May Escape From Rope And Gun; Nay, Some Have Outlived The Doctor's Pill: Who Takes A Woman Must Be Undone, That Basilisk Is Sure To Kill. The Fly That Sips Treacle Is Lost In The Sweets, So He That Tastes Woman, Woman, Woman, He That Tastes Woman, Ruin Meets.