O! How Vain And Vile A Passion

It Is The Highest Of Earthly Honors To Be Descended From The Great And Good. They Alone Cry Out Against A Noble Ancestry Who Have None Of Their Own.

Freedom Doth With Degree Dispense.

True Gladness Doth Not Always Speak; Joy, Bred And Born But In The Tongue, Is Weak.

All Discourses But My Own Afflict Me; They Seem Harsh, Impertinent, And Irksome

Queen And Huntress, Chaste And Fair Now The Sun Is Laid To Sleep, Seated In Thy Silver Chair, State In Wonted Manner Keep: Hesperus Entreats Thy Light Goddess, Excellently Bright.