Look Round, The Wrecks Of

Fools May Our Scorn, Not Envy, Raise. For Envy Is A Kind Of Praise.

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

So Comes A Reck'ning When The Banquet's O'er, The Dreadful Reckn'ning, And Men Smile No More.

No Retreat. No Retreat. They Must Conquer Or Die Who've No Retreat.

If The Heart Of A Man Is Depressed With Cares, The Mist Is Dispell'd When A Woman Appears; Like The Notes Of A Fiddle, She Sweetly, Sweetly Raises The Spirits, And Charms Our Ears.