Remorse, The Fatal Egg That Pleasure Laid.

How Readily We Wish Time Spent Revoked, That We Might Try The Ground Again Where Once--through Inexperience, As We Now Perceive--we Missed That Happiness We Might Have Found!

O, Popular Applause! What Heart Of Man Is Proof Against Thy Sweet, Seducing Charms?

Me Howling Blasts Drive Devious, Tempest-tossed, / Sails Ripped, Seams Opening Wide, And Compass Lost.

The Frenchman, Easy, Debonair, And Brisk, Give Him His Lass, His Fiddle, And His Frisk, Is Always Happy, Reign Whoever May, And Laughs The Sense Of Mis'ry Far Away.

Accomplishments Have Taken Virtue's Place, And Wisdom Falls Before Exterior Grace.