MAIDEN'S hair is more oft false than true! Aye, and her Modiste is, perchance, the clue, Could you but know it, to her sylph-like grace, And, peradventure, to her Figure, too. |
HY, for this NOTHING, then, should you provoke The gods, or lightly don the galling yoke Of unpermitted pleasure, under pain Of Alimony-until-Death, if broke? |
HY, when to-day your bills are promptly paid, Assume the whims of some capricious maid, Incur the debts you never did contract, And yet must settle? Oh, the sorry trade! |
I SWORE—BUT WAS I SOBER WHEN I SWORE?