No Tribute Is Laid On Castles In

The Villager, Born Humbly And Bred Hard, Content His Wealth, And Poverty His Guard, In Action Simply Just, In Conscience Clear, By Guilt Untainted, Undisturb'd By Fear, His Means But Scanty, And His Wants But Few, Labor His Business, And His Pleasure Too, Enjoys More Comforts In A Single Hour Than Ages Give The Wretch Condemn'd To Power.

With Curious Art The Brain, Too Finely Wrought, Preys On Herself, And Is Destroyed By Thought.

Amongst The Sons Of Men How Few Are Known Who Dare Be Just To Merit Not Their Own.

Fashion--a Word Which Knaves And Fools May Use, Their Knavery And Folly To Excuse.

Man And Wife, Coupled Together For The Sake Of Strife.