No reason makes it right To shun accepted ways from stubborn spite; And we may better join the foolish crowd Than cling to wisdom, lonely though unbowed.
Then worms shall try That long preserved virginity, And your quaint honor turn to dust, And into ashes all my lust. The grave’s a fine and private place But none, I think, do there embrace.
Betrayed and wronged in everything, I’ll flee this bitter world where vice is king, And seek some spot unpeopled and apart Where I’ll be free to have an honest heart.
