Beasts Kill For Hunger, Men

Fill It Up. I Take As Large Draughts Of Liquor As I Did Of Love. I Hate A Flincher In Either.

Around The Steel No Tortur'd Worm Shall Twine, No Blood Of Living Insect Stain My Line; Let Me, Less Cruel, Cast The Feather'd Hook, With Pliant Rod Athwart The Pebbled Brook, Silent Along The Mazy Margin Stray, And With The Fur-wrought Fly Delude The Prey.

When If Or Chance Or Hunger's Powerful Sway Directs The Roving Trout This Fatal Way, He Greedily Sucks In The Twining Bait, And Tugs And Nibbles The Fallacious Meat. Now, Happy Fisherman; Now Twitch The Line! How Thy Rod Bends! Behold, The Prize Is Thine!

Nor Love, Not Honor, Wealth Nor Power, Can Give The Heart A Cheerful Hour When Health Is Lost. Be Timely Wise; With Health All Taste Of Pleasure Flies.

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