O Fleeting Joys Of Paradise,

For Men To Tell How Human Life Began Is Hard; For Who Himself Beginning Knew?

Come And Trip It As Ye Go On The Light Fantastic Toe.

Extol Not Riches Then, The Toil Of Fools, The Wise Man's Cumbrance, If Not Snare, More Apt To Slacken Virtue, And Abate Her Edge, Than Prompt Her To Do Aught May Merit Praise.

Love Virtue, She Alone Is Free, She Can Teach Ye How To Climb Higher Than The Sphery Chime; Or, If Virtue Feeble Were, Heav'n Itself Would Stoop To Her.

No Date Prefixed Directs Me In The Starry Rubric Set.