Secret Guilt Is By Silence Revealed.

Drinking Is The Soldier's Pleasure.

Raw In The Fields The Rude Militia Swarms, Mouth Without Hands; Maintained At Vast Expense, In Peace A Charge, In War A Weak Defence.

Having Mourned Your Sin, For Outward Eden Lost, Find Paradise Within.

There's A Proud Modesty In Merit; Averse From Asking, And Resolved To Pay Ten Times The Gifts It Asks.

Great Wits Are Sure To Madness Near Allied, And Thin Partitions Do Their Bounds Divide.