And You, My Critics! In The Chequer'd

The Zeal Of Fools Offends At Any Time.

The Only Time You Run Out Of Chances Is When You Stop Taking Them

Wise Wretch! With Pleasures Too Refined To Please, With Too Much Spirit To Be E'er At Ease, With Too Much Quickness Ever To Be Taught, With Too Much Thinking To Have Common Thought: You Purchase Pain With All That Joy Can Give, And Die Of Nothing But A Rage To Live.

Our Rural Ancestors, With Little Blest, Patient Of Labor When The End Was Rest, Indulged The Day That Housed Their Annual Grain, With Feasts, And Off'rings, And A Thankful Strain.

To Be Angry Is To Revenge The Faults Of Others On Ourselves.