Admirals Extolled For Standing Still,

O Solitude, Where Are The Charms That Sages Have Seen In Thy Face? Better Dwell In The Midst Of Alarms, Than Reign In This Horrible Place.

Ceremony Leads Her Bigots Forth, Prepared To Fight For Shadows Of No Worth. While Truths, On Which Eternal Things Depend, Can Hardly Find A Single Friend.

I Venerate The Man Whose Heart Is Warm, Whose Hands Are Pure, Whose Doctrine And Whose Life, Coincident, Exhibit Lucid Proof That He Is Honest In The Sacred Cause.

Most Satirists Are Indeed A Public Scourge; Their Mildest Physic Is A Farrier's Purge; Their Acrid Temper Turns, As Soon As Stirr'd, The Milk Of Their Good Purpose All To Curd. Their Zeal Begotten, As Their Works Rehearse, By Lean Despair Upon An Empty Purse.

Not To Understand A Treasure's Worth Till Time Has Stole Away The Slighted Good, Is Cause Of Half The Poverty We Feel, And Makes The World The Wilderness It Is.