Why, There's A Wench! Come

'tis The Soldier's Life To Have Their Balmy Slumbers Waked With Strife.

Thou Mak'st Me Merry: I Am Full Of Pleasure; Let Us Be Jocund

Do You Set Down Your Name In The Scroll Of Youth, That Are Written Down Old With All The Characters Of Age?

The Pleasant'st Angling Is To See The Fish Cut With Her Golden Oars The Silver Stream And Greedily Devour The Treacherous Bait.

Yet But Three Come One More. Two Of Both Kinds Make Up Four. Ere She Comes Curst And Sad. Cupid Is A Knavish Lad. Thus To Make Poor Females Mad.