And Empty Heads Console With Empty Sound.

On Wrongs Swift Vengeance Waits.

Our Rural Ancestors, With Little Blest, Patient Of Labor When The End Was Rest, Indulged The Day That Housed Their Annual Grain, With Feasts, And Off'rings, And A Thankful Strain.

To Wake The Soul By Tender Strokes Of Art, To Raise The Genius, And To Mend The Heart

By Flatterers Besieged And So Obliging That He Ne'er Obliged.

Who Are Next To Knaves? Those That Converse With Them.