There's nothing so fatal as Woman

There's nothing so fatal as Woman,

To hurry a Man to his Grave;

You may think, you may plot,

You may sigh like a Sot:

She uses you more like a Slave.

But a Bottle, altho' it be common,

The Cheats of the Fair will undo,

It will drive from your Head

The Delights of the Bed;

He that's drunk is not able to wooe.