O Let Us Still The

I Lisp'd In Numbers, For The Numbers Came.

Hope Springs Eternal In The Human Breast: Man Never Is, But Always To Be Blest.

Praise Is Like Ambergrease: A Little Whiff Of It, And By Snatches, Is Very Agreeable; But When A Man Holds A Whole Lump Of It To Your Nose, It Is A Stink, And Strikes You Down.

While Man Exclaims, "see All Things For My Use!" "see Man For Mine!" Replies A Pamper'd Goose.

Beauties In Vain Their Pretty Eyes May Roll; Charms Strike The Sight, But Merit Wins The Soul.