Glory Grows Guilty Of Detested Crimes.

There Is An Old Poor Man,. . . . Oppress'd With Two Weak Evils, Age And Hunger.

Let Life Be Short, Else Shame Will Be Too Long.

Beauty's A Doubtful Good, A Glass, A Flower, Lost, Faded, Broken, Dead Within An Hour; And Beauty, Blemish'd Once, For Ever's Lost, In Spite Of Physic, Painting, Pain, And Cost.

Look, What A Horse Should Have He Did Not Lack, Save A Proud Rider On His Back.

Tis A Cruelty To Load A Fallen Man.