To Shoot At Crows Is Powder Flung

Why Is The Hearse With Scutcheons Blazon'd Round, And With The Nodding Plume Of Ostrich Crown'd? No; The Dead Know It Not, Nor Profit Gain; It Only Serves To Prove The Living Vain.

Can You Support The Expense Of A Husband, Hussy, In Gaming, Drinking And Whoring? Have You Money Enough To Carry On The Daily Quarrels Of Man And Wife About Who Shall Squander Most?

Envy's A Sharper Spur Than Pay: No Author Ever Spar'd A Brother; Wits Are Gamecocks To One Another.

Shall Ignorance Of Good And Ill Dare To Direct The Eternal Will? Seek Virtue, And Of That Possest, To Providence Resign The Rest.

Look Round, The Wrecks Of Play Behold; Estates Dismember'd, Mortgaged, Sold! Their Owners Now To Jails Confin'd, Show Equal Poverty Of Mind.