And Soften'd Sounds Along The

Rogues In Rags Are Kept In Countenance By Rogues In Ruffles.

Why Has Not Man A Microscopic Eye? For This Plain Reason, Man Is Not A Fly. Say What The Use, Were Finer Optics Giv'n, T' Inspect A Mite, Not Comprehend The Heav'n.

But See How Oft Ambition's Aims Are Cross'd, And Chiefs Contend 'til All The Prize Is Lost!

Old Politicians Chew On Wisdom Past, And Totter On In Business To The Last.

On Cold December Fragrant Chaplets Blow, And Heavy Harvests Nod Beneath The Snow.