Is There No Hope? The Sick Man

O Polly, You Might Have Toyed And Kissed, By Keeping Men Off, You Keep Them On.

Youth's The Season Made For Joys, Love Is Then Our Duty.

If The Heart Of A Man Is Depressed With Cares, The Mist Is Dispell'd When A Woman Appears; Like The Notes Of A Fiddle, She Sweetly, Sweetly Raises The Spirits, And Charms Our Ears.

When If Or Chance Or Hunger's Powerful Sway Directs The Roving Trout This Fatal Way, He Greedily Sucks In The Twining Bait, And Tugs And Nibbles The Fallacious Meat. Now, Happy Fisherman; Now Twitch The Line! How Thy Rod Bends! Behold, The Prize Is Thine!

What Frenzy Dictates, Jealousy Believes