It Is The End That

Give Me A Kiss, And To That Kiss A Score: Then To That Twenty, Add A Hundred More.

Well I Sup And Well I Dine, When I Drink My Frolic Wine.

Fain Would I Kiss My Julia's Dainty Leg, Which Is As White And Hairless As An Egg.

A Winning Wave, (deserving Note.) In The Tempestuous Petticote, A Careless Shoe-string, In Whose Tye I See A Wilde Civility,-- Doe More Bewitch Me Than When Art Is Too Precise In Every Part.

Go To Your Banquet Then, But Use Delight So As To Rise Still With An Appetite.