Wholesome Solitude, The Nurse Of Sense!

For What I Have Publish'd, I Can Only Hope To Be Pardon'd; But For What I Have Burned, I Deserve To Be Prais'd.

So Upright Quakers Please Both Man And God.

Die Of A Rose In Aromatic Pain.

The Flower's Are Gone When The Fruits Appear To Ripen.

Never Elated When Someone's Oppressed, Never Dejected When Another One's Blessed.