That Virtue Only Makes Our

To What Base Ends, And By What Abject Ways, Are Mortals Urg'd Through Sacred Lust Of Praise!

Content If Hence Th' Unlearn'd Their Wants May View, The Learn'd Reflect On What Before They Knew.

Lulled In The Countless Chambers Of The Brain, Our Thoughts Are Linked By Many A Hidden Chain; Awake But One, And In, What Myriads Rise!

Fortune In Men Has Some Small Diff'rence Made, One Flaunts In Rags, One Flutters In Brocade, The Cobbler Apron'd, And The Parson Gown'd, The Friar Hooded, And The Monarch Crown'd.

Let Joy Or Ease, Let Affluence Or Content, And The Gay Conscience Of A Life Well Spent, Calm Ev'ry Thought, Inspirit Ev'ry Grace, Glow In Thy Heart, And Smile Upon Thy Face.