If with me you'd fondly stray Over the hills and far away.

Whence is thy learning? Hath thy toil O'er books consumed the midnight oil?

When we risk no contradiction, It prompts the tongue to deal in fiction.

Let firm, well hammer'd soles protect thy feet Through freezing snows, and rains, and soaking sleet; Should the big last extend the shoe too wide, Each stone will wrench the unwary step aside; The sudden turn may stretch the swelling vein, The cracking joint unhinge, or ankle sprain; And when too short the modish shoes are worn, You'll judge the seasons by your shooting corn.

How, like a moth, the simple maid Still plays around the flame!

'T is woman that seduces all mankind; By her we first were taught the wheedling arts.

Fair is the marigold, for pottage meet.