How quickly nature falls into revolt When gold becomes her object! For this the foolish over-careful fathers Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains with care, Their bones with industry.

Who is so firm that can't be seduced?

My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent.

A college of wit-crackers cannot flout me out of my humor. Dost thou think I care for a satire or an epigram?

In springtime, the only pretty ring time Birds sing, hey ding A-ding, a-ding Sweet lovers love the spring—

He jests at scars that never felt a wound.

Tis a happy thing To be the father unto many sons.