But Winter Lingering Chills The

Elegy On The Death Of A Mad Dog And In That Town A Dog Was Found, As Many Dogs There Be, Both Mongrel, Puppy, Whelp, And Hound, And Curs Of Low Degree.

They Please, Are Pleas'd, They Give To Get Esteem Till, Seeming Blest, They Grow To What They Seem.

Both Wit And Understanding Are Trifles Without Integrity; It Is That Which Gives Value To Every Character. The Ignorant Peasant, Without Fault, Is Greater Than The Philosopher With Many; For What Is Genius Or Courage Without A Heart?

Hope, Like The Gleaming Taper's Light, Adorns And Cheers Our Way; And Still, As Darker Grows The Night, Emits A Brighter Ray.

Thou Source Of All My Bliss And All My Woe, That Found'st Me Poor At First, And Keep'st Me So.