To Him No High, No Low, No

Behold The Child, By Nature's Kindly Law, Pleased With A Rattle, Tickled With A Straw; Some Livelier Plaything Gives His Youth Delight, A Little Louder, But As Empty Quite; Scarfs, Garters, Gold, Amuse His Riper Stage, And Beads And Prayer-books Are The Toys Of Age. Pleased With This Bauble Still, As That Before, Till Tired He Sleeps, And Life's Poor Play Is O'er.

Envy Will Merit, As Its Shade, Pursue

Honor And Shame From No Condition Rise. Act Well Your Part: There All The Honor Lies.

The Mouse That Always Trusts To One Poor Hole Can Never Be A Mouse Of Any Soul.

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