Is There No Hope? The Sick Man

Can Love Be Controll'd By Advice?

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!

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

Whence Is Thy Learning? Hath Thy Toil O'er Books Consumed The Midnight Oil?

A Rich Rogue Nowadays Is Fit Company For Any Gentleman; And The World, My Dear, Hath Not Such A Contempt For Roguery As You Imagine.