Wine Lets No Lover Unrewarded Go.

Ye Flowers That Drop, Forsaken By The Spring, Ye Birds That, Left By Summer, Cease To Sing, Ye Trees That Fade, When Autumn Heats Remove, Say, Is Not Absence Death To Those Who Love?

The Flower's Are Gone When The Fruits Appear To Ripen.

But Those Who Cannot Write, And Those Who Can, All Rhyme, And Scrawl, And Scribble, To A Man.

Trust Not Yourself, But Your Defects To Know, Make Use Of Every Friend And Every Foe.

And Empty Heads Console With Empty Sound.