O, For An Engine, To

No Simple Word That Shall Be Uttered At Our Mirthful Board, Shall Make Us Sad Next Morning; Or Affright The Liberty That We'll Enjoy To-night.

Affliction Teacheth A Wicked Person Sometime To Pray; Prosperity Never.

Follow A Shadow, It Still Flies You, Seem To Fly, It Will Pursue: So Court A Mistress, She Denies You; Let Her Alone, She Will Court You. Say Are Not Women Truly, Then, Styled But The Shadows Of Us Men?

Cares That Have Entered Once In The Breast, Will Have Whole Possession Of The Rest.

Wine It Is The Milk Of Venus, And The Poet's Horse Accounted: Ply It And You All Are Mounted.