'Tis now the summer of your youth: time has not cropped the roses from your cheek, though sorrow long has washed them.

I'll tell thee what it says; it calls me villain, a treacherous husband, a cruel father, a false brother; one lost to nature and her charities; or to say all in one short word, it calls me - Gamester.

The hours I spend with you I look upon as sort of a perfumed garden, a dim twilight, and a fountain singing to it. You and you alone make me feel that I am alive. Other men it is said have seen angels, but I have seen thee and thou art enough.

But from the hoop's bewitching round, Her very shoe has power to wound.

Ay, rail at gaming - 'tis a rich topic, and affords noble declamation. Go, preach against it in the city - you'll find a congregation in every tavern.

Now, in my opinion, a woman has no business with Power-Power admits no equal, and dismisses friendship for flattery. Besides, it keeps the men at a distance, and that is not always what we wish.

'Tis now the summer of your youth: time has not cropped the roses from your cheek, though sorrow long has washed them.