Yet smelt roast meat, beheld a huge fire shine, And cooks in motion with their clean arms bared.
The devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice, An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice.
Be warm, be pure, be amorous, but be chaste.
War, war is still the cry,-"war even to the knife!"
So bright the tear in Beauty's eye, Love half regrets to kiss it dry.
Always laugh when you can. It is cheap medicine.