A Careless Shoe String, In Whose Tie

He Loves His Bonds Who, When The First Are Broke, Submits His Neck Into A Second Yoke.

A Careless Shoe String, In Whose Tie I See A Wilde Civility.

In Sober Mornings Do Not Thou Rehearse The Holy Incantation Of A Verse

In Things A Moderation Keep; Kings Ought To Shear, Not Skin, Their Sheep.

A Little Saint Best Fits A Little Shrine, A Little Prop Best Fits A Little Vine, As My Small Cruse Best Fits My Little Wine.