Youth's The Season Made For Joys, Love

I Never, With Important Air, In Conversation Overbear. . . . . My Tongue Within My Lips I Rein; For Who Talks Much Must Talk In Vain.

In Beauty Faults Conspicuous Grow; The Smallest Speck Is Seen On Snow.

Let Firm, Well Hammer'd Soles Protect Thy Feet Through Freezing Snows, And Rains, And Soaking Sleet; Should The Big Last Extend The Shoe Too Wide, Each Stone Will Wrench The Unwary Step Aside; The Sudden Turn May Stretch The Swelling Vein, The Cracking Joint Unhinge, Or Ankle Sprain; And When Too Short The Modish Shoes Are Worn, You'll Judge The Seasons By Your Shooting Corn.

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

Around The Steel No Tortur'd Worm Shall Twine, No Blood Of Living Insect Stain My Line; Let Me, Less Cruel, Cast The Feather'd Hook, With Pliant Rod Athwart The Pebbled Brook, Silent Along The Mazy Margin Stray, And With The Fur-wrought Fly Delude The Prey.