A Noisy Man Is Always In The

She That Asks Her Dear Five Hundred Friends, Contemns Them All, And Hates Their Coming.

A Glory Gilds The Sacred Page, Majestic Like The Sun, It Gives A Light To Every Age, It Gives, But Borrows None.

The Spleen Is Seldom Felt Where Flora Reigns; The Low'ring Eye, The Petulance, The Frown, And Sullen Sadness, That O'ershade, Distort, And Mar The Face Of Beauty, When No Cause For Such Immeasurable Woe Appears; These Flora Banishes, And Gives The Fair Sweet Smiles, And Bloom Less Transient Than Her Own.

He Is The Freeman Whom The Truth Makes Free, And All Are Slaves Besides.

God Made Bees, And Bees Made Honey, God Made Man, And Man Made Money, Pride Made The Devil, And The Devil Made Sin; So God Made A Cole-pit To Put The Devil In.