Content With Poverty, My Soul I Arm;

Love Is A Child That Talks In Broken Language, Yet Then He Speaks Most Plain.

An Hour Will Come, With Pleasure To Relate Your Sorrows Past, As Benefits Of Fate.

If Passion Rules, How Weak Does Reason Prove!

Death Ends Our Woes, And The Kind Grave Shuts Up The Mournful Scene.

Railing In Other Men May Be A Crime, But Ought To Pass For Mere Instinct In Him: Instinct He Follows And No Further Knows, For To Write Verse With Him Is To Transprose.