A Warning
Cried Age to Youth: “Abate your speed!—
The distance hither’s brief indeed.”
But Youth pressed on without delay—
The shout had reached but half the way.
Discretion
She
I’m told that men have sometimes got
Too confidential, and
Have said to one another what
They—well, you understand.
I hope I don’t offend you, sweet,
But are you sure that you’re discreet?
He
’Tis true, sometimes my friends in wine
Their conquests do recall,
But none can truly say that mine
Are known to him at all.
I never, never talk you o’er—
In truth, I never get the floor.