For When Was Public Virtue To Be

Where Penury Is Felt The Thought Is Chain'd, And Sweet Colloquial Pleasures Are But Few.

A Glory Gilds The Sacred Page, Majestic Like The Sun, It Gives A Light To Every Age, It Gives, But Borrows None.

How Readily We Wish Time Spent Revoked, That We Might Try The Ground Again Where Once--through Inexperience, As We Now Perceive--we Missed That Happiness We Might Have Found!

War's A Game, Which, Were Their Subjects Wise, Kings Would Not Play At.

I Pity Them Greatly, But I Must Be Mum, For How Could We Do Without Sugar And Rum?