Youth's The Season Made For Joys, Love

Praising All Alike, Is Praising None.

What Happiness The Rural Maid Attends, In Cheerful Labour While Each Day She Spends! She Gratefully Receives What Heav'n Has Sent, And, Rich In Poverty, Enjoys Content.

Fools May Our Scorn, Not Envy, Raise. For Envy Is A Kind Of Praise.

Of All The Fools That Pride Can Boast, A Coxcomb Claims Distinction Most.

Look Round, The Wrecks Of Play Behold; Estates Dismember'd, Mortgaged, Sold! Their Owners Now To Jails Confin'd, Show Equal Poverty Of Mind.