The blushing beauties of a modest maid.
When he spoke, what tender words he used! So softly, that like flakes of feathered snow, They melted as they fell.
Men are but children of a larger growth, Our appetites as apt to change as theirs, And full as craving too, and full as vain.
Time glides with undiscover'd haste; The future but a length behind the past.
And plenty makes us poor.
All things are subject to decay and when fate summons, monarchs must obey.