Ah! Why, Ye Gods, Should Two And

Chiefs Who No More In Bloody Fights Engage, But Wise Through Time, And Narrative With Age, In Summer-days Like Grasshoppers Rejoice - A Bloodless Race, That Send A Feeble Voice.

The Heart Resolves This Matter In A Trice, "men Only Feel The Smart, But Not The Vice.

Hope Travels Through, Nor Quits Us When We Die.

The Doubtful Beam Long Nods From Side To Side.

Count All Th' Advantage Prosperous Vice Attains, 'tis But What Virtue Flies From And Disdains: And Grant The Bad What Happiness They Would, One They Must Want--which Is, To Pass For Good.