Look Round, The Wrecks Of Play Behold;

How, Like A Moth, The Simple Maid Still Plays Around The Flame!

What Frenzy Dictates, Jealousy Believes

A Woman's Friendship Ever Ends In Love.

The Careful Insect 'midst His Works I View, Now From The Flowers Exhaust The Fragrant Dew, With Golden Treasures Load His Little Thighs, And Steer His Distant Journey Through The Skies.

So Comes A Reck'ning When The Banquet's O'er, The Dreadful Reckn'ning, And Men Smile No More.