But Those Who Cannot Write,

Wretches Hang That Jurymen May Dine.

Aurora Now, Fair Daughter Of The Dawn, Sprinkled With Rosy Light The Dewy Lawn.

Fix'd Like A Plant On His Peculiar Spot, To Draw Nutrition, Propagate And Rot.

No More The Mounting Larks, While Daphne Sings, Shall, List'ning, In Mid-air Suspend Their Wings.

Such As Are Still Observing Upon Others Are Like Those Who Are Always Abroad At Other Men's Houses, Reforming Everything There While Their Own Runs To Ruin.