't Was Good Advice, And Meant, My

't Was Good Advice, And Meant, My Son, Be Good.

In Idle Wishes, Fools Supinely Stay. Be There A Will And Wisdom Finds A Way.

A Sly Old Fish, Too Cunning For The Hook.

Oh How The Passions, Insolent And Strong, Bear Our Weak Minds Their Rapid Course Along; Make Us The Madness Of Their Will Obey; Then Die And Leave Us To Our Griefs As Prey!

Genius! Thou Gift Of Heav'n! Thou Light Divine! Amid What Dangers Art Thou Doom'd To Shine! Oft Will The Body's Weakness Check Thy Force, Oft Damp Thy Vigour, And Impede Thy Course; And Trembling Nerves Compel Thee To Restrain Thy Noble Efforts, To Contend With Pain; Or Want (sad Guest!) Will In Thy Presence Come, And Breathe Around Her Melancholy Gloom: To Life's Low Cares Will Thy Proud Thought Confine, And Make Her Sufferings, Her Impatience, Thine.