By Beauty'S Caresses, Like Cupid, Half-Spoil'D, Thus Music'S And Poesy'S Favourite Child Exclaim'D, - "'Tis, By Heaven! A Terrible Thing Before A He-Party To Sit And To Sing!" "By My Shoul! Master Moore, You There May Be Right," Said A Son Of Green Erin; "Tho' Dear To My Sight Are All The Sweet Cratures, Call'D Women, I Swear, Yet I Think We Can Feel Just As Well As The Fair: Tho' You'd Bribe Us With Songs, Blood And 'Ounds! Let Me Say, I'd Not Be A Woman For One In Your Way."