Fickle Fortune Reigns, And, Undiscerning, Scatters Crowns

Cavil You May, But Never Criticise.

Not Grace, Or Zeal, Love Only Was My Call, And If I Lose Thy Love, I Lose My All.

Interspersed In Lawn And Opening Glades, Thin Trees Arise That Shun Each Others' Shades.

Th' Unwilling Gratitude Of Base Mankind!

No Writing Is Good That Does Not Tend To Better Mankind In Some Way Or Other.