Ruin seize thee, ruthless king! Confusion on thy banners wait! Though fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing, They mock the air with idle state.
And hie him home, at evening's close, To sweet repast and calm repose.
We frolic while 'tis May.
Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate, Beneath the good how far,-but far above the great.
Rich with the spoils of time.
What female heart can gold despise? What cat 's averse to fish?