Fortune Confounds The Wise, And When They

The Unhappy Man, Who Once Has Trail'd A Pen, Lives Not To Please Himself, But Other Men; Is Always Drudging, Wastes His Life And Blood, Yet Only Eats And Drinks What You Think Good.

Thoughts Cannot Form Themselves In Words So Horrid As Can Express My Guilt.

Resolved To Ruin Or To Rule The State.

And That One Hunting, Which The Devil Design'd For One Fair Female, Lost Him Half The Kind.

God Never Made His Work For Man To Mend.