But His Kiss Was So Sweet, And

What Happiness The Rural Maid Attends, In Cheerful Labour While Each Day She Spends! She Gratefully Receives What Heav'n Has Sent, And, Rich In Poverty, Enjoys Content.

Whence Is Thy Learning? Hath Thy Toil O'er Books Consumed The Midnight Oil?

Envy's A Sharper Spur Than Pay: No Author Ever Spar'd A Brother; Wits Are Gamecocks To One Another.

So Comes A Reck'ning When The Banquet's O'er, The Dreadful Reckn'ning, And Men Smile No More.

One Common Fate We Both Must Prove; You Die With Envy, I With Love.