Virtue she finds too painful an endeavour, content to dwell in decencies for ever.
No louder shrieks to pitying heaven are cast, When husbands or lap-dogs breathe their last.
On life's vast ocean diversely we sail. Reasons the card, but passion the gale.
Oft, as in airy rings they skim the heath, The clamtrous lapwings feel the leaden death; Oft, as the mounting larks their notes prepare They fall, and leave their little lives in air.
Wine lets no lover unrewarded go.
Heaven from all creatures hides the book of Fate.