On Cold December Fragrant Chaplets Blow, And

A Generous Friendship No Cold Medium Knows, Burns With One Love, With One Resentment Glows.

Tis From High Life High Characters Are Drawn; A Saint In Crape Is Twice A Saint In Lawn: A Judge Is Just, A Chanc'llor Juster Still; A Gownman Learn'd; A Bishop What You Will; Wise If A Minister; But If A King, More Wise, More Learn'd, More Just, More Ev'rything.

The Worst Of Madmen Is A Saint Run Mad.

Pleased To The Last, He Crops The Flowery Food, And Licks The Hand Just Raised To Shed His Blood.

While I Live, No Rich Or Noble Knave Shall Walk The World In Credit To His Grave.