All Hunt For Fame, But Most Mistake

With Curious Art The Brain, Too Finely Wrought, Preys On Herself, And Is Destroyed By Thought.

Be England What She Will, With All Her Faults She Is My Country Still.

Though Folly, Robed In Purple, Shines, Though Vice Exhausts Peruvian Mines, Yet Shall They Tremble And Turn Pale When Satire Wields Her Mighty Flail.

The Oak, When Living, Monarch Of The Wood; The English Oak, Which, Dead, Commands The Flood.

The Virtuous To Those Mansions Go Where Pleasures Unembitter'd Flow, Where, Leading Up A Jocund Band, Vigor And Youth Dance Hand In Hand, Whilst Zephyr, With Harmonious Gales, Pipes Softest Music Through The Vales, And Spring And Flora, Gaily Crown'd, With Velvet Carpet Spread The Ground; With Livelier Blush Where Roses Bloom, And Every Shrub Expires Perfume.