Some To The Fascination Of A Name,

But War's A Game, Which, Were Their Subjects Wise, Kings Should Not Play At. Nations Would Do Well To Extort Their Truncheons From The Puny Hands Of Heroes, Whose Infirm And Baby Minds Are Gratified With Mischief, And Who Spoil, Because Men Suffer It, Their Toy The World.

No Wisdom That She May Gain By Experience And Reflection Hereafter, Will Compensate The Loss Of Her Present Hilarity.

Go, Mark The Matchless Working Of The Power That Shuts Within The Seed The Future Flower; Bids These In Elegance Of Form Excel. In Color These, And Those Delight The Smell; Sends Nature Forth, The Daughter Of The Skies, To Dance On Earth, And Charm All Human Eyes.

It Chills My Blood To Hear The Blest Supreme Rudely Appealed To On Each Trifling Theme.

The Few That Pray At All Pray Oft Amiss.