All Looks Yellow To A

Beauties In Vain Their Pretty Eyes May Roll; Charms Strike The Sight, But Merit Wins The Soul.

The Dull Flat Falsehood Serves For Policy, And In The Cunning, Truth's Itself A Lie.

Fair Tresses Man's Imperial Race Ensnare; And Beauty Draws Us With A Single Hair.

The Life Of A Wit Is A Warfare Upon Earth.

Envy Will Merit, As Its Shade, Pursue