But Ne'er The Rose Without The Thorn.

When The Artless Doctor Sees No One Hope, But Of His Fees, And His Skill Runs On The Lees; Sweet Spirit, Comfort Me! When His Potion And His Pill, Has, Or None, Or Little Skill, Meet For Nothing, But To Kill; Sweet Spirit, Comfort Me!

The Person Lives Twice Who Lives The First Life Well

Learn This Of Me, Where'er Thy Lot Doth Fall, Short Lot, Or Not, To Be Content With All.

Know When To Speak - For Many Times It Brings Danger, To Give The Best Advice To Kings.

In Vain Our Labours Are, Whatsoe'er They Be, Unless God Gives The Benediction.