By Heaven! I rather would forswear
The Earth, and all the joys reserved me,
Than dare again the specious Snare,
From which my Fate and Heaven preserved me.
Still I possess some Friends who love me—
In each a much esteemed and true one;
The Wealth of Worlds shall never move me
To quit their Friendship, for a new one.
But Becher! you're a reverend pastor,
Now take it in consideration,
Whether for penance I should fast, or
Pray for my sins in expiation.
I own myself the child of Folly,
But not so wicked as they make me—
I soon must die of melancholy,
If Female smiles should e'er forsake me.
Philosophers have never doubted,
That Ladies' Lips were made for kisses!
For Love! I could not live without it,
For such a cursed place as This is.