I Lisp'd In Numbers, For The Numbers

Oft, As In Airy Rings They Skim The Heath, The Clamtrous Lapwings Feel The Leaden Death; Oft, As The Mounting Larks Their Notes Prepare They Fall, And Leave Their Little Lives In Air.

As With Narrow-necked Bottles; The Less They Have In Them, The More Noise They Make In Pouring Out.

Know Then This Truth, Enough For Man To Know Virtue Alone Is Happiness Below.

Be Not The First By Whom The New Are Tried, Nor Yet The Last To Lay The Old Aside.

What Nature Wants, Commodious Gold Bestows; 'tis Thus We Cut The Bread Another Sows.