Men Deal With Life As Children With

Even In The Stifling Bosom Of The Town, A Garden, In Which Nothing Thrives, Has Charms That Soothes The Rich Possessor; Much Consol'd, That Here And There Some Sprigs Of Mournful Mint, Or Nightshade, Or Valerian, Grace The Well He Cultivates.

A Self-made Man? Yes, And One Who Worships His Creator.

For When Was Public Virtue To Be Found Where Private Was Not?

Where Thou Art Gone, Adieus And Farewells Are A Sound Unknown.

Pleasure Admitted In Undue Degree, Enslaves The Will, Nor Leaves The Judgment Free.