Monuments, Like Men, Submit To Fate.

Like Cato, Give His Little Senate Laws, And Sit Attentive To His Own Applause.

Hear How The Birds, On Ev'ry Blooming Spray, With Joyous Musick Wake The Dawning Day.

Intestine War No More Our Passions Wage, And Giddy Factions Bear Away Their Rage.

As Some To Church Repair, Not For The Doctrine, But The Music There.

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