In Sober Mornings Do Not Thou Rehearse

Let's Live With That Small Pittance Which We Have; Who Covets More Is Evermore A Slave.

I'll Write, Because I'll Give - You Critics Means To Live; For Should I Not Supply - The Cause, The Effect Would Die

In Ways To Greatness Think On This, That Slippery All Ambition Is

Wealth Cannot Make A Life, But Love.

Things Are Evermore Sincere; / Candor Here, And Lustre There / Delighting.