All Looks Yellow To A Jaundiced Eye.

Party-spirit At Best Is But The Madness Of Many For The Gain Of A Few.

Know, Nature's Children All Divide Her Care, The Fur That Warms A Monarch Warmed A Bear.

Whate'er The Talents, Or Howe'er Designed, We Hang One Jingling Padlock On The Mind.

Ambition First Sprung From Your Blest Abodes: The Glorious Fault Of Angels And Of Gods.

Death, Only Death, Can Break The Lasting Chain; And Here, Ev'n Then, Shall My Cold Dust Remain