The Jests Of The Rich

Near Yonder Thorn, That Lifts Its Head On High, Where Once The Sign-post Caught The Passing Eye, Low Lies That House Where Nut-brown Draughts Inspired, Where Graybeard Mirth And Smiling Toil Retired, Where Village Statesmen Talk'd With Looks Profound, And News Much Older Than Their Ale Went Round.

Whatever Mitigates The Woes, Or Increases The Happiness Of Others, Is A Just Criterion Of Goodness; And Whatever Injures Society At Large, Or Any Individual In It, Is A Criterion Of Iniquity.

At Night Returning, Every Labour Sped, He Sits Him Down, The Monarch Of A Shed; Smiles By His Cheerful Fire, And Round Surveys His Children's Looks, That Brighten At The Blaze; While His Lov'd Partner, Boastful Of Her Hoard, Displays Her Cleanly Platter On The Board.

When We Take A Slight Survey Of The Surface Of Our Globe A Thousand Objects Offer Themselves Which, Though Long Known, Yet Still Demand Our Curiosity.

It World Be Well Had We More Misers Than We Have Among Us.