Where No Hope Is Left, Is Left

Ah Gentle Pair, Ye Little Think How Nigh Your Change Approaches, When All These Delights Will Vanish And Deliver Ye To Woe, More Woe, The More Your Taste Is Now Of Joy.

Among Unequals What Society Can Sort, What Harmony, Or True Delight?

Into This Wild Abyss, The Womb Of Nature And Perhaps Her Grave.

Come And Trip It As Ye Go On The Light Fantastic Toe.

A Limbo Large And Broad, Since Call'd The Paradise Of Fools To Few Unknown.