Fill it up. I take as large draughts of liquor as I did of love. I hate a flincher in either.
In beauty faults conspicuous grow; The smallest speck is seen on snow.
From kings to cobblers 'tis the same; Bad servants wound their masters' fame.
No author ever spar'd a brother.
Youth's the season made for joys, Love is then our duty.
The charge is prepared; the lawyers are met; The judges all ranged (a terrible show!) I go, undismay'd. For death is a debt, A debt on demand. So take what I owe.