In love we are all fools alike.
O Polly, you might have toyed and kissed, by keeping men off, you keep them on.
Youth's the season made for joys, Love is then our duty.
Learning by study must be won; 'Twas ne'er entail'd from son to son.
Give me, kind heaven, a private station, a mind serene for contemplation.
So comes a reck'ning when the banquet's o'er, The dreadful reckn'ning, and men smile no more.