Ill News Are Swallow-winged, But What Is

Greatness, With Private Men Esteem'd A Blessing, Is To Me A Curse; And We, Whom, For Our High Births, They Conclude The Happy Freemen, Are The Only Slaves. Happy The Golden Mean!

Tis The Only Discipline We Are Born For; All Studies Else Are But As Circular Lines, And Death The Center Where They All Must Meet.

What Pity 'tis, One That Can Speak So Well, Should In His Actions Be So Ill!

Though The Desire Of Fame Be The Last Weakness Wise Men Put Off.

How Sweetly Sounds The Voice Of A Good Woman! It Is So Seldom Heard That, When It Speaks,it Ravishes All Senses.