To Be Angry Is To Revenge The

Content If Hence Th' Unlearn'd Their Wants May View, The Learn'd Reflect On What Before They Knew.

Why Did I Write? What Sin To Me Unknown Dipped Me In Ink, My Parents , Or My Own?

Whether The Charmer Sinner It, Or Saint It, If Folly Grow Romantic, I Must Paint It.

The Soul, Uneasy And Confin'd From Home, Rests And Expatiates In A Life To Come.

Monuments, Like Men, Submit To Fate.