Deluded swain, the pleasureThe fickle Fair can give thee,Is but a fairy treasure,Thy hopes will soon deceive thee:The billows on the ocean,The breezes idly roaming,The cloud’s uncertain motion,They are but types of Woman.
O art thou not asham’dTo doat upon a feature?If Man thou wouldst be nam’d,Despise the silly creature.Go, find an honest fellow,Good claret set before thee,Hold on till thou art mellow,And then to bed in glory!