Ridicule Has Even Been The Most Powerful

Near Yonder Copse, Where Once The Garden Smil'd, And Still Where Many A Garden Flower Grows Wild, There, Where A Few Torn Shrubs The Place Disclose, The Village Preacher's Modest Mansion Rose. A Man He Was To All The Country Dear, And Passing Rich With Forty Pounds A Year; Remote From Town's He Ran His Godly Race, Nor E'er Had Chang'd Nor Wish'd To Change His Place; Unskilful He To Fawn, Or Seek For Power, By Doctrines Fashion'd To The Varying Hour; Far Other Aims His Heart Had Learn'd To Prize. More Bent To Raise The Wretched Than To Rise.

They Please, Are Pleas'd, They Give To Get Esteem Till, Seeming Blest, They Grow To What They Seem.

For Just Experience Tells, In Every Soil, That Those That Think Must Govern Those That Toil.

What If In Scotland's Wilds We Viel'd Our Head, Where Tempests Whistle Round The Sordid Bed; Where The Rug's Two-fold Use We Might Display, By Night A Blanket, And A Plaid By Day.

I Chose My Wife, As She Did Her Wedding Gown, For Qualities That Would Wear Well.