Those Who Write Ill, And They Who

Rich The Treasure, Sweet The Pleasure,- Sweet Is Pleasure After Pain.

And After Hearing What Our Church Can Say, If Still Our Reason Runs Another Way, That Private Reason 'tis More Just To Curb, Than By Disputes The Public Peace Disturb; For Points Obscure Are Of Small Use To Learn, But Common Quiet Is Mankind's Concern.

The Fates But Only Spin The Coarser Clue; The Finest Of The Wool Is Left For You.

Fortune, That With Malicious Joydoes Man Her Slave Oppress,proud Of Her Office To Destroy,is Seldom Pleasd To Bless.

Wit Will Shine Through The Harsh Cadence Of A Rugged Line.