Give Me, Kind Heaven, A Private Station,

Envy's A Sharper Spur Than Pay: No Author Ever Spar'd A Brother; Wits Are Gamecocks To One Another.

Breathe Soft, Ye Winds! Ye Waves, In Silence Sleep!

The Sun Was Set; The Night Came On Apace, And Falling Dews Bewet Around The Place; The Bat Takes Airy Rounds On Leathern Wings, And The Hoarse Owl His Woeful Dirges Sings.

Fools May Our Scorn, Not Envy, Raise. For Envy Is A Kind Of Praise.

Can You Support The Expense Of A Husband, Hussy, In Gaming, Drinking And Whoring? Have You Money Enough To Carry On The Daily Quarrels Of Man And Wife About Who Shall Squander Most?