How, Like A Moth, The

Nor Love, Not Honor, Wealth Nor Power, Can Give The Heart A Cheerful Hour When Health Is Lost. Be Timely Wise; With Health All Taste Of Pleasure Flies.

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

Fill It Up. I Take As Large Draughts Of Liquor As I Did Of Love. I Hate A Flincher In Either.

Is There No Hope? The Sick Man Said, The Silent Doctor Shook His Head, And Took His Leave With Signs Of Sorrow, Despairing Of His Fee To-morrow.

What Then In Love Can Woman Do? If We Grow Fond They Shun Us. And When We Fly Them, They Pursue: But Leave Us When They've Won Us.