If You Mean To Profit,

The Villager, Born Humbly And Bred Hard, Content His Wealth, And Poverty His Guard, In Action Simply Just, In Conscience Clear, By Guilt Untainted, Undisturb'd By Fear, His Means But Scanty, And His Wants But Few, Labor His Business, And His Pleasure Too, Enjoys More Comforts In A Single Hour Than Ages Give The Wretch Condemn'd To Power.

Quick-circulating Slanders Mirth Afford; And Reputation Bleeds In Every Word.

A Joke's A Very Serious Thing.

Those Who Raise Envy Will Easily Incur Censure.

He Hurts Me Most Who Lavishly Commends.