Satire Or Sense, Alas! Can

All Seems Infected That Th' Infected Spy, As All Looks Yellow To The Jaundiced Eye.

Hope Travels Through, Nor Quits Us When We Die.

Oh! If To Dance All Night, And Dress All Day, Charm'd The Small-pox, Or Chas'd Old Age Away; . . . . To Patch, Nay Ogle, Might Become A Saint, Nor Could It Sure Be Such A Sin To Paint.

There Is Nothing Wanting To Make All Rational And Disinterested People In The World Of One Religion, But That They Should Talk Together Every Day.

These Riches Are Possess'd, But Not Enjoy'd!