No Author Ever Spar'd A

Were I Laid On Greenland's Coast, And In My Arms Embrac'd My Lass; Warm Amidst Eternal Frost, Too Soon The Half Year's Night Would Pass.

Some Folks Of Cider Make A Rout And Cider's Well Enough No Doubt When Better Liquors Fail; But Wine, That's Richer, Better Still, Ev'n Wine Itself (deny't Who Will) Must Yield To Nappy Ale

Shall Ignorance Of Good And Ill Dare To Direct The Eternal Will? Seek Virtue, And Of That Possest, To Providence Resign The Rest.

Fair Words Cost Nothing.

Breathe Soft, Ye Winds! Ye Waves, In Silence Sleep!