All Moral Laws Are Merely

Ay, Rail At Gaming - 'tis A Rich Topic, And Affords Noble Declamation. Go, Preach Against It In The City - You'll Find A Congregation In Every Tavern.

But From The Hoop's Bewitching Round, Her Very Shoe Has Power To Wound.

I Am Rich Beyond The Dreams Of Avarice.

Beauty Has Wings, And Too Hastily Flies, And Love, Unrewarded, Soon Sickens And Dies.

Can't I Another's Face Commend, Or To Her Virtues Be A Friend, But Instantly Your Forehead Louers, As If Her Merit Lessen'd Yours?