So Poetry, Which Is In Oxford Made

For What Can Power Give More Than Food And Drink, To Live At Ease, And Not Be Bound To Think?

Content With Poverty, My Soul I Arm; And Virtue, Though In Rags, Will Keep Me Warm.

My Hands Are Guilty, But My Heart Is Free.

New Vows To Plight, And Plighted Vows To Break.

Rich The Treasure, Sweet The Pleasure,- Sweet Is Pleasure After Pain.