So On This Windy Sea Of Land,

Good, The More Communicated, More Abundant Grows.

So May'st Thou Live, Till Like Ripe Fruit Thou Drop Into Thy Mother's Lap.

Witness This New-made World, Another Heav'n From Heaven Gate Not Farr, Founded In View On The Clear Hyaline, The Glassie Sea; Of Amplitude Almost Immense, With Starr's Numerous, And Every Starr Perhaps A World Of Destined Habitation.

It Is For Homely Features To Keep Home,- They Had Their Name Thence; Coarse Complexions And Cheeks Of Sorry Grain Will Serve To Ply The Sampler And To Tease The Huswife's Wool. What Need A Vermeil-tinctur'd Lip For That, Love-darting Eyes, Or Tresses Like The Morn?

Bacchus, That First From Out The Purple Grape Crush'd The Sweet Poison Of Misused Wine.