Wept O'er His Wounds, Or

Some Fleeting Good, That Mocks Me With The View.

When Lovely Woman Stoops To Folly, And Finds Too Late That Men Betray, What Charm Can Soothe Her Melancholy, What Art Can Wash Her Guilt Away?

A Traveler Of Taste Will Notice That The Wise Are Polite All Over The World, But The Fool Only At Home.

Eternal Blessings Crown My Earliest Friend, And Round His Dwelling Guardian Saints Attend.

To Be Poor, And To Seem Poor, Is A Certain Method Never To Rise.