Oh ye who license men to trade
In draughts that charm and then degrade,
Before ye hear the cry, Too late,
Oh, save the boys from my sad fate.
NOTHING AND SOMETHING.
It is nothing to me, the beauty said,
With a careless toss of her pretty head;
The man is weak if he can’t refrain
From the cup you say is fraught with pain.
It was something to her in after years,