Since the pox or the plague, of inconstancy reigns
In most of the women o' the town,
What ridiculous fop would trouble his brains
To make the lewd devils lie down.
No more in dull rhyme, or some heavier strain,
Will I of the jades or their jilting complain,
My court I will make to things more divine,
The pleasures of friendship, freedom and wine.

We'll Venus adore
For a goddess no more,
That old lady whore;
But Bacchus we'll court,
Who doth drinking support;
Let the world sink or swim,
Sirrah! fill to the brim!