Whatever Is, Is In Its Causes Just.

Let Grace And Goodness Be The Principal Loadstone Of Thy Affections.

Not To Ask Is Not Be Denied.

A Satirical Poet Is The Check Of The Laymen On Bad Priests.

While I Am Compassed Round With Mirth, My Soul Lies Hid In Shades Of Grief, Whence, Like The Bird Of Night, With Half-shut Eyes, She Peeps, And Sickens At The Sight Of Day.

Death Ends Our Woes, And The Kind Grave Shuts Up The Mournful Scene.