Those Who Would Make Us Feel Must

With Various Readings Stored His Empty Skull, Learn'd Without Sense, And Venerably Dull.

Knaves Starve Not In The Land Of Fools.

Most Of Those Evils We Poor Mortals Know From Doctors And Imagination Flow.

The Villager, Born Humbly And Bred Hard, Content His Wealth, And Poverty His Guard, In Action Simply Just, In Conscience Clear, By Guilt Untainted, Undisturb'd By Fear, His Means But Scanty, And His Wants But Few, Labor His Business, And His Pleasure Too, Enjoys More Comforts In A Single Hour Than Ages Give The Wretch Condemn'd To Power.

Wherever Waves Can Roll, And Winds Can Blow.