And Write About It, Goddess, And About

At Length Corruption, Like A General Flood (so Long By Watchful Ministers Withstood), Shall Deluge All; And Avarice, Creeping On, Spread Like A Low-born Mist, And Blot The Sun.

Many Men Have Been Capable Of Doing A Wise Thing, More A Cunning Thing, But Very Few A Generous Thing.

A Perfect Woman's But A Softer Man.

No Louder Shrieks To Pitying Heaven Are Cast, When Husbands Or Lap-dogs Breathe Their Last.

Speed The Soft Intercourse From Soul To Soul, And Waft A Sigh From Indus To The Pole.