Who Friendship With A Knave Hath Made,

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

What Will Not Luxury Taste? Earth, Sea, And Air, Are Daily Ransack'd For The Bill Of Fare. Blood Stuffed In Skins Is British Christians' Food, And France Robs Marshes Of The Croaking Brood.

My Lodging Is On The Cold Ground, And Hard, Very Hard, Is My Fare, But That Which Grieves Me More Is The Coldness Of My Dear.

't Is Woman That Seduces All Mankind; By Her We First Were Taught The Wheedling Arts.

Who Talks Much, Must Talk In Vain.