Song

Love a woman? You're an ass.

'Tis a most insipid passion

To choose out for your happiness

The idlest part of God's creation.

Let the porter and the groom,

Things designed for dirty slaves,

Drudge in fair Aurelia's womb

To get supplies for age and graves.

Farewell, woman! I intend

Henceforth every night to sit

With my lewd, well-natured friend,

Drinking to engender wit.

Then give me health, wealth, mirth, and wine,

And if busy Love intrenches,

There's a sweet, soft page of mine

Does the trick worth forty wenches.