The Flower's Are Gone When The Fruits

As The Twig Is Bent, So Grows The Tree.

The Soul's Calm Sunshine, And The Heartfelt Joy.

Statesman, Yet Friend To Truth! Of Soul Sincere, In Action Faithful, And In Honour Clear; Who Broke No Promise, Serv'd No Private End, Who Gain'd No Title, And Who Lost No Friend.

Satire Or Sense, Alas! Can Sporus Feel? Who Breaks A Butterfly Upon A Wheel?

Then, At The Last And Only Couplet Fraught With Some Unmeaning Thing They Call A Thought, A Needless Alexandrine Ends The Song, That, Like A Wounded Snake, Drags Its Slow Length Along.