Among Our Crimes Oblivion May Be Set.

Old Age Creeps On Us Ere We Think It Nigh.

Like Pilgrims To Th' Appointed Place We Tend; The World's An Inn, And Death The Journey's End.

A Brave Man Scorns To Quarrel Once A Day; Like Hectors In At Every Petty Fray.

In Pious Times, Ere Priest-craft Did Begin, Before Polygamy Was Made A Sin; When Man, On Many, Multipli'd His Kind, Ere One To One Was Cursedly Confin'd: When Nature Prompted, And No Law Deni'd Promiscuous Use Of Concubine And Bride; Then, Israel's Monarch, After Heaven's Own Heart, His Vigorous Warmth Did Variously Impart To Wives And Slaves: And, Wide As His Command, Scatter'd His Maker's Image Through The Land.

Youth, Beauty, Graceful Action Seldom Fail: But Common Interest Always Will Prevail; And Pity Never Ceases To Be Shown To Him Who Makes The People's Wrongs His Own.