Still Follow Sense, Of Ev'ry Art The

The Hog That Ploughs Not, Not Obeys Thy Call, Lives On The Labours Of This Lord Of All.

And Write About It, Goddess, And About It!

A Family Is But Too Often A Commonwealth Of Malignants.

No Silver Saints, By Dying Misers Giv'n, Here Brib'd The Rage Of Ill-requited Heav'n; But Such Plain Roofs As Piety Could Raise, And Only Vocal With The Maker's Praise.

A Brave Man Struggling In The Storms Of Fate, And Greatly Falling With A Falling State.