And Die Of Nothing But A Rage

In Lazy Apathy Let Stoics Boast, Their Virtue Fix'd: 't Is Fix'd As In A Frost; Contracted All, Retiring To The Breast; But Strength Of Mind Is Exercise, Not Rest.

The Muse But Serv'd To Ease Some Friend, Not Wife, / To Help Me Through This Long Disease, My Life.

Did Some More Sober Critics Come Abroad? If Wrong, I Smil'd; If Right, I Kiss'd The Rod.

Ambition First Sprung From Your Blest Abodes: The Glorious Fault Of Angels And Of Gods.

Dear, Damned, Distracting Town, Farewell! Thy Fools No More I'll Tease: This Year In Peace, Ye Critics, Dwell, Ye Harlots, Sleep At Ease!