Tis not for us to warn a wilful sinner; We stay him not, but let him run his course, Till by misfortunes rous’d, his conscience wakes, And prompts him to appease th’ offended gods.
Women, you overheated dipsomaniacs, never passing up a chance to wangle a drink, a great boon to bartenders but a bane to us–not to mention our crockery and our woolens!
This is what extremely grieves us, that a man who never fought Should contrive our fees to pilfer, on who for his native land Never to this day had oar, or lance, or blister in his hand.
