Men Are Vile Inconstant Toads.

The Pious Farmer, Who Ne'er Misses Pray'rs, With Patience Suffers Unexpected Rain; He Blesses Heav'n For What Its Bounty Spares, And Sees, Resign'd, A Crop Of Blighted Grain. But, Spite Of Sermons, Farmers Would Blaspheme, If A Star Fell To Set Their Thatch On Flame.

The Knowledge Of Numbers Is One Of The Chief Distinctions Between Us And The Brutes.

'tis A Sort Of Duty To Be Rich, That It May Be In One's Power To Do Good, Riches Being Another Word For Power.

Forgive What You Can't Excuse.

And We Meet, With Champagne And A Chicken, At Last.