In Love We Are All

Praising All Alike, Is Praising None.

Youth's The Season Made For Joys, Love Is Then Our Duty.

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

But His Kiss Was So Sweet, And So Closely He Pressed, That I Languished And Pined Till I Granted The Rest.

When If Or Chance Or Hunger's Powerful Sway Directs The Roving Trout This Fatal Way, He Greedily Sucks In The Twining Bait, And Tugs And Nibbles The Fallacious Meat. Now, Happy Fisherman; Now Twitch The Line! How Thy Rod Bends! Behold, The Prize Is Thine!