Trade's Proud Empire Hastes To Swift Decay.

Persecution Is A Tribute The Great Must Always Pay For Preeminence.

The Pregnant Quarry Teem'd With Human Form.

Our Bounty, Like A Drop Of Water, Disappears, When Diffus'd Too Widely

At Night Returning, Every Labour Sped, He Sits Him Down, The Monarch Of A Shed; Smiles By His Cheerful Fire, And Round Surveys His Children's Looks, That Brighten At The Blaze; While His Lov'd Partner, Boastful Of Her Hoard, Displays Her Cleanly Platter On The Board.

While Resignation Gently Slopes Away, And All His Prospects Brightening To The Last, His Heaven Commences Ere The World Be Past.