Envy's a sharper spur than pay.
What then in love can woman do? If we grow fond they shun us. And when we fly them, they pursue: But leave us when they've won us.
Whence is thy learning? Hath thy toil O'er books consumed the midnight oil?
Fair is the marigold, for pottage meet.
So comes a reck'ning when the banquet's o'er, The dreadful reckn'ning, and men smile no more.
How happy could I be with either, Were t'other dear charmer away!