Woman's Mind Oft' Shifts Her Passions, Like

Who Friendship With A Knave Hath Made, Is Judged A Partner In The Trade.

How, Like A Moth, The Simple Maid Still Plays Around The Flame!

Give Me, Kind Heaven, A Private Station, A Mind Serene For Contemplation.

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.

Some Folks Of Cider Make A Rout And Cider's Well Enough No Doubt When Better Liquors Fail; But Wine, That's Richer, Better Still, Ev'n Wine Itself (deny't Who Will) Must Yield To Nappy Ale