And, Of All Lies (be That One

Domestic Happiness, Thou Only Bliss Of Paradise That Has Surviv'd The Fall!

Call'd To The Temple Of Impure Delight He That Abstains, And He Alone, Does Right. If A Wish Wander That Way, Call It Home; He Cannot Long Be Safe Whose Wishes Roam.

Our Love Is Principle, And Has Its Root In Reason, Is Judicious, Manly, Free.

His Wit Invites You By His Looks To Come, But When You Knock, It Never Is At Home.

But Truths On Which Depends Our Main Concern, That 'tis Our Shame And Misery Not To Learn, Shine By The Side Of Every Path We Tread With Such A Lustre He That Runs May Read.