So Comes A Reck'ning When The Banquet's

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

No Retreat. No Retreat. They Must Conquer Or Die Who've No Retreat.

Woman's Mind Oft' Shifts Her Passions, Like Th'inconstant Wind; Sudden She Rages, Like The Troubled Main, Now Sinks The Storm, And All Is Calm Again.

Give Me, Kind Heaven, A Private Station, A Mind Serene For Contemplation.

One Common Fate We Both Must Prove; You Die With Envy, I With Love.