Twas When The Seas Were Roaring With

The Careful Insect 'midst His Works I View, Now From The Flowers Exhaust The Fragrant Dew, With Golden Treasures Load His Little Thighs, And Steer His Distant Journey Through The Skies.

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.

Envy's A Sharper Spur Than Pay: No Author Ever Spar'd A Brother; Wits Are Gamecocks To One Another.

Were I Laid On Greenland's Coast, And In My Arms Embrac'd My Lass; Warm Amidst Eternal Frost, Too Soon The Half Year's Night Would Pass.

Envy Is A Kind Of Praise.