If he wants money, find a trusting friend.Get hangings, cabinets, and looking-glass,Or any thing for which his word will pass.Practise these rules, thou'lt find the benefit!I lost my beauty ere I got this wit."I at that word step'd from behind the door,And scarce my nails from her thin cheeks forbore.Her few gray hairs in rage I vow'd to pull,And thrust her drunken eyes into her skull."Poor in a dungeon's bottom may'st thou rot,Die with a blow with thy beloved pot;No brandy, and eternal thirst, thy lot."
Elegy IX: Of Love and War. By Henry Cromwell.
Trust me, my Atticus, in love are wars;And Cupid has his camp, as well as Mars:The age that's fit for war best suits with love,The old in both unserviceable prove,Infirm in war, and impotent in love.The soldiers which a general does require,Are such as ladies would in bed desire:Who but a soldier, and a lover, can