There’s nothing so fatal as Woman lyrics
by Henry Purcell
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