Jigging Veins Of Rhyming Mother Wits.

I Count Religion But A Childish Toy, And Hold There Is No Sin But Ignorance.

It Lies Not In Our Power To Love Or Hate, For Will In Us Is Overruled By Fate.

Fools That Will Laugh On Earth, Most Weep In Hell.

Nothing Violent, Oft Have I Heard Tell, Can Be Permanent.

That Perfect Bliss And Sole Felicity, The Sweet Fruition Of An Earthly Crown.