How, like a moth, the simple maid Still plays around the flame!
One wife is too much for most husbands to bear, But two at a time there's no mortal can bear.
Beasts kill for hunger, men for pay.
Variety's the source of joy below, From whence still fresh-revolving pleasures flow, In books and love the mind one end pursues, And only change the expiring flames renews.
In every age and clime we see Two of a trade can never agree.
When if or chance or hunger's powerful sway Directs the roving trout this fatal way, He greedily sucks in the twining bait, And tugs and nibbles the fallacious meat. Now, happy fisherman; now twitch the line! How thy rod bends! behold, the prize is thine!