Trust Reposed In Noble Natures Obliges Them

Successful Crimes Alone Are Justified.

For Those Whom God To Ruin Has Design'd, He Fits For Fate, And First Destroys Their Mind.

He Is A Perpetual Fountain Of Good Sense.

Fool, Not To Know That Love Endures No Tie, And Jove But Laughs At Lovers' Perjury.

So Poetry, Which Is In Oxford Made An Art, In London Only Is A Trade.